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Fred M. Young 

Stcenbqck memorial Library 

Sleenboc^t Memoilal Lhnty 

University of Wisconsin - MadisW) 

550 Babcock Drive 

Madison. Wl 53706-1298 



» ' • 





Sbeikh Achmct Haffez. 'My Bedouin Brotlier," the diplomatic 
ruler oC the Auezeh BedoulUH. 

Thla photograph was taken by the Hod. J. B. Jackson, the 
flrat Amerlcao Consul In Aleppo. In 1906. It shows the dl3- 
tlD«uiahed old diplomat with a beard grown since our vlait In 
ISOfi; It also reveals the medal Irom the Sultan at Turkey. 

Sisenbock Memorial Librafy 
University of Wisconsin - fwladison 

550 BabcoGk Drwe 
ltodteon.WI 53T06-1293 








Copyright, 1909, by 

Registered at Stationers^ Hall, London 
(All Rights Reserved) 

Printed in the United States of America 

dedicated to 
My Dauohteb Mildbed 



Preface ix 


I An Oregon Arab and What It Led to i 

II Procuring the Irad^: and the Start for 

THE Desert 9 

III The Sultan's Stables 19 

IV The Sultan of Turkey 28 

V From Constantinople to Antioch 50 

VI Antioch to Aleppo 61 

VII Akmet Haffez and the War Mare yy 

VIII The War Mare Greets the Desert 90 

IX We Feast with the Anezeh and Become 
Better Acquainted — Inspection and 
Purchase of Horses 105 

X An Important Ceremony in Which I Was 
One of the Principals — A Circassian 
Village, with a Visit to the Governor, 
and What Befell Sheikh Ali 123 

XI As TO Dogs and as to One Dog in Par- 
ticular 136 

XII The Meeting with Hashem Bey^ the 

Great Sheikh of the Desert 150 

XIII Starting on the Return Journey and 
Some Oriental Bargaining — The Begin- 
ning OF THE Story of the Mare 167 



pAfcMA AS1> His HOKSES I75 

XV Wt Sat Faxemth. to Axiqt Haitez axu 
fjTAinr p«i THE Coast — ^^he Pmidc cr the 


Meets Hex Two Soss 184 

XVI What Oxe Mat Oteklook or the Ship- 
ment OF Horses — ^\Ve Leate the Otto- 
man Empire axd Exter Essextial Part 
OF It at Least, Although Scrrouxikd 
BT Spies 197 

XVII Naples and Some of the Misfortunes 
WHICH Overtook Us There — America at 
Last 210 

XVIII Of Said Abdallah and His Notions of 

America 225 

XIX The Bedouin of the Desert^ His Son and 
His Daughter, His Cattle and the 
Stranger That Is Within His Gates. ., 233 

XX The Arab Horse and His Present Status 

— Some Stories from the Desert 247 

XXI Various Importations of Arab Horses 268 




Sheikh Akmet Haffez, the Diplomatic Ruler of 

THE Anezeh Bedouins Frontispiece 

His Excellency Chikeb Bey, the Turkish Am- 
bassador II 

Letter of Chikeb Bey i6 

Abdul Hamid's Favorite Horse 22 

The Sultan, Abdul Hamid tj 

'*It Was a Rare Treat for the Diplomats When 

We Lined Up for Admission to the Palace^' 31 

A Royal Eunuch 34 

Royal Eunuchs Following the Carriages of the 

Princesses 37 

Abdul Hamid Is Greeted by His Two Sons at the 

Mosque 42 

The Sultan Returning from the Mosque 46 

Ameen Zaytoun, My Interpreter 53 

One of Our Escorts at Antioch 62 

Old Methods of Travel Giving Way to New in 

Aleppo ^ . . . 74 

My Royal Present, Wadduda the War Mare, with 

Said Abdalla 83 

Nazin Pasha, the Governor of Aleppo %y 

Haleb, the Pride of the Anezeh 91 

Our First Round of Coffee Under the Great 

Sheikh's Tent 103 

Our Tent Near the Great Sheikh's Tent Among 

THE Anezeh 107 

"Just Out of Our Tent Squatted This Young 

Anezeh Bedouin'' 11 1 

Young Men of the Anezeh Seeing Their First 

Cameras 113 

The Method of Buying a Horse in the Desert. ... 116 




A GoMussA Bedouin of the Sabba Anezeh ii8 

"Akmet Haffez Would Join Our Hands Just Be- 
fore THE Horse Was Bought" 121 

Abeyah's Pedigree 125 

Drinking Sour Sheep and Camel's Milk with 

Akmet Haffez 127 

Sheikh Ali Rashid of the Abo-Gomese 129 

A Handsome Bedouin Boy 131 

The Supreme Sheikh, Hashem Bey 150 

The Sheikh of All Sheikhs 152 

Pedigree of Haleb, the Brown Maeghi Sbeyl 154 

An Old Warrior of the Anezeh 156 

"This Expressionless Old Horseman" 158 

Photographed with the Great Sheikhs of the 

Fedan Anezeh 161 

Haleb's Head 163 

Curious Visitors Much Astonished at Watching 

Me Sketch 168 

Hamrah, a Seglawie-Jedran 169 

Our Camp a Few Miles East of Aleppo 173 

Euphrates, Full Brother to Hamrah 176 

MusoN, Light Gray Stallion 179 

Hassan Tasshin Pasha, Exiled in Aleppo 181 

Study of Muson — Still, Listening 185 

MusoN, the Kehilan Muson 191 

Brihem Pasha 195 

"No Horses Were More Sensible Than These 
While Being Transferred from Steamer to 

Barge" 212 

Transferring a Horse from Barge to Steamer at 

Naples 219 

One of the Young Men of the Anezeh 234 

An Old Bedouin from the Sabba Anezeh 235 

Camels for the Royal Daughters 243 

A Seglawie-Jedran of Ibn-ed-Eddara 249 

Paring the Frog of the Horse's Foot Out Prior 

TO Putting On the Shoe 253 

Showing the Solid Steel Shoe with Small Hole 
in Center , 254 


This book has not been written with any idea 
that it will add to literature. Indeed, my pri- 
mary object in going to the Syrian desert was 
not to see things and then over-describe them in 
a book; I had no use for souvenir spoons or 
Turkish rugs. My purpose was but for one 
thing, and that was to obtain Arab mares and 
stallions of absolute purity of blood that I 
could trace as coming from the great Anezeh 
tribe of Bedouins. That was my fixed idea in 
undertaking the journey. 

I had been deeply interested in the Arab 
horse for many years before I really knew any- 
thing about them. Then, w^hen I thought I 
had begun to acquire some knowledge of the 
breed I found that I was not learning much. 
Information about them, obtainable in this 
country, was confusing; alleged authorities 
contradicted each other in every argument ; the 
thing to do, it seemed to me, was to go myself 
to the home of the Arab horse and there learn 
of him from his master, the Bedouin. 

[ xiii ] 


The journey thus was undertaken also for 
my own education and that it was so successful 
(if I may be permitted to say so) is largely 
due to aid received from several influential 
quarters. I carried with me, for instance, let- 
ters from President Roosevelt, ^o, as a horse- 
man, ranks with his standing as a man, and 
without which my errand would have been 
fruitless. From His Imperial Majesty, the 
Sultan of Turkey, I received an Irade, to- 
gether with the courtesies of the Sublime Porte. 
In Aleppo I had the extreme good fortune to 
form a bond of true friendship with the ven- 
erable Achmet Hafez, himself the Prince of 
all the Bedouins. By him personally I was 
taken to the desert and personally he interested 
himself in my purchases of horses. Without 
him it would have been an accident if I had 
been able to purchase a single animal of abso- 
lute purity of blood. It was these unusual 
courtesies that brought success to the under- 
taking and to all that extended them a sincere 
and hearty acknowledgment is here made. 

Thanks also are due and are here expressed 
to Charles Arthur Moore, Jr., and to the late 
John Henry Thompson, Jr., who were my 
companions on the trip and whose hearty co- 



operation was an invaluable aid in achieving 
its ends. Acknowledgments are also made to 
the Woman's Home Companion for permis- 
sion to reprint from its pages much of the mat- 
ter and many of the pictures used in this 

To repeat again what has been said above, 
my journey had this serious purpose in view — 
that by a judicious use of the pure Arabian 
blood, a breed of horse might be re-established 
as useful to mankind as was the Morgan horse 
when it was at its greatest. But, I had to get 
to the desert before I could purchase my horses 
and getting to the desert under the circmn- 
stances, proved even more interesting and ro- 
mantic than I had expected. That may sound 
foolish. In these days, when an automobile 
honk-honks through the bazaars of Damascus, 
and when a trolley car clangs under the old 
city gate over the pilgrim road to Mecca ; when 
you journey most of the way to Mecca itself 
on one railway and when you travel to the ruins 
of Baalbek on another, there does not seem 
to be much romance left. 

But after you have been in the East for a 
while you will find, as I did, that all the hustle 
and bustle imparted from the Occident speedily 



become orientalized; there is always plenty of 
time at the other end of the Mediterranean. 

It is always "Bookra" (to-morrow) there. 
A through "express" train stops to allow the 
passengers to see an exciting fight between two 
fellaheen on a threshing floor; during the com- 
bat the conductor oflFers to you or accepts 
from you a cigarette, and it is quite as often the 
former as the latter. Imagine the 18-hour 
limited slowing up because two farm hands 
near Palatine Bridge were having a set-to! 
Think of the Pullman conductor exchanging 
cigars with you! 

Even in Constantinople, where one might ex- 
pect to find something of the energy of the 
West, the story is the same. You walk down 
the gangplank from the French steamer 
moored just above the north of the Golden 
Horn and — ^Bookra! Why be in a hurry? Is 
there not a Bookra? Curiously enough, after 
you have heard that dinned into your ears 
enough times you begin to say to yourself: "Of 
course I am not in a hurry. There is a 
Bookra." And then you can really be part of 
the East. 

When you get back to America you realize 



that this feehng has been more one of laziness 
and inertia than of romance. It has been, you 
are perfectly certain, just a response to your 
environment. You are apt to wonder how 
you ever could have yielded to it, but still you 
are Vay sure that it was the only thing you 
could have done at the time. 

Even now, writing in Morris Plains, I find 
myself thinking and almost believing that I 
am again in the desert. I smell its smells and 
hear its sounds. Under the tents of the 
Anezeh my companions and I sit in the evening 
silently drinking the salted coffee and smoking 
the pipe passed around from hand to hand ; for 
half hours at a time no one speaks — ^we only 
hear the querulous jackals snarling over a bit 
of offal on the outskirts of the camp; once in 
a while some old Chief of the Tribe softly calls 
upon Allah. 

Again in my thoughts I renew the bond of 
brotherhood with Achmet Hafez and begin all 
over again my friendship with Hashim Bey, the 
Sheikh of all the Sheikhs of the Bedouins. 

It has been impossible for me, therefore, not 
to include in this book some of the romance of 
the desert and of the journey to it. I only 

[ xvii ] 


hope that the stories of the happenings whidi 
interested me wiU interest those who may read 
what follows, even if thev are not horsemen. 

Homer Datenpokt. 

Morris Plains, N. J. 

[ xviii ] 

My Quest of the Arab Horse 



The real story of my trip to the Syrian des- 
ert begins in Oregon in 1871. 

At Christmas time of that year I received a 
box of paints, and a few days after, at the age 
of three years and nine months, I drew an il- 
lustration which was known all through my 
boyhood as "Arabian Horses." I believed 
then that Arabian horses were spotted, like 
leopards, an idea that I had evidently obtained 
from circuses. However, it shows the tail car- 
ried high, and this was a correct impression 
that must have been conveyed to me by my 
parents. Indeed the following letter from my 
father shows that he used to tell me of Arab 
horses : 

"Silverton, Nov. 11, 1906. 
"I cannot fix the exact time when I began to 
tell you stories of the Arab and his horse, but it 



was when you were housed up in ihe winter of 
'70-'71. All through the inclement weather 
you had horse on the hrain and I pictured to 
you the Arab as an equestrian, mounted upon 
his glorious steed, his desert bom companion 
that shared with him his tent and food and 

"Although you were but three years and 
nine months old, you exhausted my store of 
knowledge relating to human and horse life 
in Arabia. You seemed to be specially inter- 
ested in the way the Arab horse carried his 
head and tail ; to ask if it was like 'Old John. 

y jf 

I only relate this early evidence to show that 
this trip to the desert was the realization of a 
boy's dream. Ever since the drawing of this 
picture of Arab horses, I have had in mind 
Arab horses, and I have always been easily 
stopped on any street comer, or crossroad, by 
a story pertaining to the Arab or his horses, 
and hour after hour of valuable time I have 
spent in drawing the Arab horse or in talking 
about him. 

I must have been in my teens, when a great 
revival of interest in the Arab came along with 
the appearance in Silverton, Oregon, of a can 



bearing a label with a very beautiful picture 
of a white Arab horse, having his shin bone 
treated with what the can had once held. That 
the liniment had gone, did not bother me at 
all. I carefully removed the stains on the 
cover of the can without soiling the lithograph, 
and that can formed my only piece of artistic 
furniture for a number of years. I remember 
that for a time I had in mind that I would keep 
the can, and, in later life, when I began to ac- 
cumulate artistic treasures I could build around 
it. But in 1892, when I was compelled by rel- 
atives to leave Oregon for San Francisco, the 
horse liniment can was left in the woodshed, 
much against my will. 

In 1893, however, at Chicago, just before the 
opening of that World's Fair, the Arab germs 
in my system got a fresh start. I was going 
with a reporter on some detail, while employed 
on the Chicago Herald, when, on State Street, 
we heard some weird, queer music. Approach- 
ing us were some gray horses slipping and fall- 
ing on the wet pavement; horses that actually 
had grace and beauty as they fell and regained 
their feet almost instantaneously. 

Though never having before seen a horse 
with a speck of Arab blood in his veins, I knew 



that these were Arab horses. I told the re- 
porter to wait and I would be back in a minute. 
It was a long moment ; I followed those horses 
— ^up one street and down another, until they 
finally arrived back at their headquarters. 
Here, with about eight thousand small boys, I 
was stopped at the outside gate while the 
horses, with big sparkling eyes and gracefully 
carried tails, pranced in. The majority of 
them were grays, and I thought (my four- 
year-old drawing was in mind) it was very 
strange that there were no spotted ones. 

During the next few days I thought of noth- 
thing else but these horses and dreamed of 
nothing else during the nights. After a week 
or so it commenced to worry me, but finally the 
fair opened, and after it had been running a 
few weeks, this Bedouin camp was exhibited on 
the "Midway.'' 

In these days I drew nothing but horse 
pictures, for I was on the Herald for that pur- 
pose. I had been illustrating the Washing- 
ton Park races, and had made the acquaintance 
of Alf and William Lakeland. The first was 
the famous trainer of thoroughbreds, who was 
in Chicago with the horses of Mr. James R. 
Keene. His brother William was simply there 



with open ears and loose change, listening for 
the best tips. One day I went to the stalls in 
the Bedouin camp and made a sketch of a gray 
stallion they called Obeyran. I finished the 
picture in pen and ink, and showed it to the 
Lakelands. They thought I ought to get one 
of the smaller horses in exchange for it, while 
I had made up my mind to be content if they 
would give me a saddle and bridle that had ac- 
tually been on one of the horses, as I had 
learned that all the animals had to be returned 
to the desert near Damascus, whence they 
had come by special permission of the Sultan 
of Turkey. 

The Lakelands went with me to present the 
picture. I had stupidly drawn it while the 
horse was in his stall, with the tail hanging as 
an ordinary horse's tail would hang. The 
Bedouins recognized the picture, and most of 
them exclaimed "Obeyran!'* but in a moment 
there was a rumpus raised because the tail was 
carried low. One of them struck the picture 
with a sword and cut it in two, and another 
ripped at it, and finally it was knocked out of 
my hands and torn in pieces. The Lakelands 
and myself were thrown bodily out of the en- 



closure. There was a Syrian in the party 
who could talk English, and he explained to 
us that these town Arabs had misunderstood 
our intention and thought that the picture had 
been made as an insult to their horses. This 
was quite a disappointment indeed. The 
Lakelands were entirely discouraged, but it 
only stopped me for a few days. 

Notwithstanding the want of appreciation 
given to my efforts as an artist, I was soon back 
as a regular customer, paying every day that 
the fair was open, to see the same horses go 
through the same games, at the same price. 
Because of the time I had spent on the bleach- 
ers watching the games of the so-called 
Bedouins, I lost my position on the Herald, 
and was driven back to San Francisco, where 
there were no Arab horses, and where, for this 
reason, I was able to hold a position on one 
of the newspapers. 

At the close of the World's Fair, I saw by 
the press dispatches that the Arab horses 
which were to have been sent back to Svria, 
had been held by a mortgage in this country, 
and had been sold at an auction, but not until 
after nine had been burned to death in their 



stalls. The remaining horses had been bought 
principally by people in New England. 

Late in the fall of 1895, 1 came to New York 
City. One of the first letters I wrote was to Mr. 
Randolph Himtington, of Oyster Bay, Long 
Island, to inquire if he knew where the horses 
that had been at the World's Fair had gone. 
Mr. Huntington told me that he knew where 
one was, a gray mare, which was the best of 
the lot. I lost no time in seeing this mare, 
but it was several years before I found the rest 
of them. I was continually hunting for them 
and they were finally discovered in the posses- 
sion of Mr. Peter B. Bradley, of Hingham, 

Mr. Bradley is an eminent horseman, who 
had accumulated, regardless of cost, some of 
our own trotters of the finest blood as well as 
thoroughbreds, hackneys and other types. 
Many of his Arab horses had died, but all that 
were left of the original lot Mr. Bradley 
owned. On my first visit to his place, I bought 
one of the bay stallions, and began to make a 
study of the Arab horse from close range. I 
bought some books on the Arab horse, and 
found that probably the Chicago Arabs were 
not what one would call desert horses, with the 



exception of the fine gray mare, Ned j ma, 
which Mrs. Ramsdell owned. The rest had 
been shipped from Damascus and were town 
Arabs. This made me all the more eager to 
do something myself. 





There had been but one thought uppermost 
in my mind ever since the liniment can days and 
that was, to go to the desert personally and in 
some way bring out Arab mares of unquestion- 
able blood. I knew that to do that I should 
need a permit from the Sultan of Turkey. I 
also knew that while the Sultan had presented 
General Grant with two stallions, he had re- 
fused to let the General have any mares. It 
was commonly understood that foreign na- 
tions, which were continually seeking Arab 
blood for the Government studs, with difficulty 
obtained it.* 

*In a letter his Excellency Ghikeb Bey, the Turkish Embas- 
sador, at Washington, under date of December 27th, 1906, in 
reply to a question from me, says: **! cannot tell exactly 
the date when the exportation of Arabian horses from the 
Ottoman Empire was forbidden, but if my memory serves me 
well, the first prohibition dates back thirty or thirty-five 



In the latter part of December, 1905, 1 asked 
President Roosevelt if he thought he could 
help me to get a permit from the Sultan of 
Turkey, as I had wanted to try and carry out 
plans which I had had in mind for several 
months, and I received the following letter 
from him on January 1st, 1906, enclosing an- 
other from the Secretary of State : 

The White House, 
Washington, January 1, 1906. 
My Dear Mr. Davenport : 

Anything you want I should like to do any- 
how, and when it comes to dealing with 
Arabian horses I would take you up with 
double zeal. Is the enclosed letter from the 
Secretary of State all right? If not, make 
what changes you wish and I will have them 
put in. You can use this letter too with any 
of our representatives. With all good luck, 
faithfully yours, 

( Signed ) Theodore Roosevelt. 
Mr. Homer Davenport, 
The Evening Mail, 
New York, N. Y. 

With this letter I proceeded at once to 
Washington for an interview with His Ex- 



cellency Chikeb Bey, then the Turkish Ambas- 
sador, and after a very pleasant conversation 
with him (he fortmiately is a horseman of the 
highest order) he assured me that while to get 
mares from the desert was almost impossible, 
still he would make an earnest appeal and 
would cable to Constantinople. 

After a few days he received a cablegram in 
return which gave me the first ray of hope, for 
it inquired how many horses I wanted. There 
was some discussion then as to the number I 
should ask for. After consideration I con- 
cluded that while six was a modest nimiber, 
generally when you went beyond six you 
said twelve and that just to break the monot- 
ony of such a system I had best ask for six 
or eight. This was done and the Sultan left 
it just as I had put it, "six or eight," and to my 
utter astonishment, as well as the Ambassa- 
dor's, granted the Irade.* 

♦In a letter dated December 28, 1906, from Lady Ann Blunt, 
the most distinguished traveler and authoress of the Arabian 
Desert, commenting upon my success in procuring such an 
Irad6, the Lady has this to say: "There has always existed a 
prohibition to export horses from Turkish territory, but of late 
I believe it has been made more stringent, and the permission 
given to you must have been due to great judgment and skill 
on the part of the American Embassador. I doubt if at the 
present time any other diplomat would have a like success." 
I believe that the liberal permit was granted more through 



I had made all my plans to go alone to the 
desert, intending to proceed to Deyr, some 250 
miles below Aleppo. A few days before I 
planned to start, a tall athletic yoimg man with 
the snappiest eyes in New York came in to see 
me. This was John H. Thompson, Jr. We 
had met on two or three occasions before. 
When I told him I was going on the trip to 
the desert his eyes got even brighter and he 
said: "If I wouldn't be in the way I'd like 
mighty well to go on that trip with you.*' 

When I told him that I would like very much 
to have him do so, he cut me short, and an- 
swered : "Let that stand imtil I come in to- 
morrow at 10 o'clock." 

When he called the next day he said: "I'm 
ready to catch any boat. Are you?" 

In the meantime I received a letter from Mr. 
C. A. Moore, the president of the firm of 
Messrs. Manning, Maxwell & Moore, telling 
me that his son, Arthur, was just as much of 
an Arab as I was ; that he hadn't the slightest 
doubt that his son would dance at the mention 
of such a trip, but that he supposed it would 

the influence of this distinguished Turkish ofllcial than through 
any efforts on the part of the American Embassador, though 
I am iiatisfled his efforts were of great help. 



be out of the question to think of his son's join- 
ing me, as he was six feet four inches, weighed 
245 pounds, and would, naturally, be in the 
way. I called up the office on the *phone and 
the young man himself answered. His father 
hadn't spoken to him about the trip, but you 
could actually hear the interest accumulating 
in his voice. As I finished telling him what 
his father had written me, he said, "All right, 
we'll let it go at that; just coimt me in." 
I asked him when he'd be ready, and he said: 
"I'm ready now; I'll be up to see you in five 

I heard his telephone receiver drop off 
the table and smash on the floor, and I came 
to the conclusion that he'd rung off, as I failed 
to get any more communication. And that's 
how Moore and Thompson came to be on the 
trip. You'll hear more about them later. 

So, with a week's preparation, we sailed on 
the French line, July the 5th, 1906, for 
Havre, armed with powerful rifles, good let- 
ters of credit, and a few other lesser necessi- 
ties of life in the desert. Before I left home I 
had in my stables all the horses that remained 
of the Chicago importation, except the gray 
mare, and one of her daughters that was owned 



at Newberg; but of her family I had two of 
her sons, one daughter and a grandson. So I 
had at last overtaken the horses, and the de- 
scendants of the horses, that I had seen slip- 
ping so gracefully on the pavements of Chi- 
cago. The passenger list was a very big one 
on the French liner, but, when the passengers 
went ashore in France, everybody who had 
been on board the boat, even to the captain, 
was fairly well informed on Arabian horses. 

The two young men who were with me were 
as proud of the Irade that I carried from his 
Imperial Majesty, the Sultan, apparently, as 
I was myself, and already it began to show 
the wear and tear of much handling. 

We reached Constantinople on a train they 
called "The Limited," on July 19th, in the 
forenoon, and after the usual formalities over 
passports, went to the hotel. The American 
Embassy was almost next door to the hotel, 
and at the Embassy our first real excitement 
came. When I arrived, Thompson and Moore 
having preceded me, Mr. Alexander Gargiulo, 
the first Dragoman, was talking Arab horse 
with my companions and they had told him that 
I had an Irade from the Sultan permitting me 
to export six or eight mares. This he thought 


de (Lnriftttr 


^^^<*^ "^ <-»<^S&\tn^ J^^n^ /Tiay^ y'^^.^ O^-uU^t.^C' iy 


was impossible. So when I came in, and they 
asked me if I had the Irade with me, I took it 
from my pocket with some pride. Then came 
the usual fall. After Gargiulo had read it, 
he said it meant nothing; that he was afraid 
we had come a long journey for our health and 
into a poor coimtry. He declared the "Irade" 
was simply a letter from the Ambassador at 
Washington, who could not write Irades. He 
added that during his forty years at the Em- 
bassy he had never heard of such a permit be- 
ing granted to a Government, not to speak of 
an individual; he hoped that it was official, 
and said he would take the paper to the Palace 
and find out its authenticity. 

Of course you can see what my sleep was 
that night. I had been in bed five minutes, per- 
haps, when my first dream was that I had met 
Mr. Gargiulo the next morning; that he had 
come to me as politely as possible and told me 
that the Sultan had no remembrance of any 
such correspondence; that he was indeed very 
sorry that I had been misled in coming so far 
from home at such an awkward time of the year. 
The next dream was similar, and so, after an 
awful night, I was up at daylight, peevish. 

However, on meeting Mr. Gargiulo at about 



10 o'clock the following morning, he drew from 
his inside pocket, carefully, all the time smil- 
ing more and more broadly, my Irade, with offi- 
cial attachments pinned to it and with the add- 
ed information from the Sultan, that, on this 
occasion, I could export with the mares what 
stallions I chose to purchase. 

Things were different then; the dogs in the 
street looked a little better to us, and we fig- 
ured out that Constantinople would not be such 
a bad place if they spent five or six years try- 
ing to clean the streets. We were jubilant; 
we went to see a polo match, saw the first Arab 
polo horses, and heard evidence from an En- 
glish naval officer that to play polo nowadays, 
and play it right, one should be mounted on an 

We were restless to get on our journey. 
The Sultan indeed had sent word to us from 
the Palace that it would be impossible, owing 
to the heat, to go to Aleppo and the desert at 
that time of the year, but we smiled, and sent 
word back with the royal messenger, that we 
were not on a pleasure trip, but on business 



THE sultan's stables 

Anxious as we were to get off to the desert 
there were enough things in Constantinople to 
keep us interested for several days, and chief 
among them were the Selamlik, the only time 
in those days when the outsider could get a 
glimpse of His Imperial Majesty and a visit 
to the royal stables. Of the Selamlik I shall 
tell at length in another chapter, for it deserves 
a chapter to itself. At the time we were in 
Constantinople it was not entirely easy for for- 
eigners to witness the ceremony, but permis- 
sion to visit the Imperial stud was easily ob- 
tained through Mr. Gargiulo. Mr. Gargiulo 
was with General Grant on the latter's visit to 
the Royal stables, when the Sultan offered him 
a stallion, which the General at that time re- 
fused. Later, when in France he saw what use 
France had made of the Arab blood, he wrote 
saying he would take the one oflfered. Mr. 



Gargiulo told the Sultan how lonely a trip to 
America would be for one stallion and that two 
would travel better together. Accordmgly the 
Sultan gave two. His Majesty picked out a 
gray and a black, and as they were being pre- 
pared for the trip, Mr. Gargiulo tried them, 
and found the black was not a good saddle 
horse. He had to think of some scheme by 
which an exchange could be made, but he knew 
he would have to have a good reason. Final- 
ly, as he went to the Master of Ceremonies, to 
thank him for the stallions for the General, he 
said: "But " 

"But, what?" said the Master of Ceremonies, 
with some heat^"you first ask for one, then for 
two, and when all this is granted, you say, 
But— But what?" 

But — I have found from careful inspection 
of history," answered Gargiulo, "that no 
American ruler ever rode a black horse. Will 
not His Majesty send a horse of some other 
color for the black one?" 

The Master of Ceremonies made note, and 
said His Majesty should be told. 

The next day another horse had been chosen, 
a darker gray than the first one, which must 
have been "Linden-tree," as he was the darker 




of the two, and a better horse, Mr. Gargiulo 
said that as far as breed was concerned, no one 
knew their blood, they were just presents to the 
Sultan, and presents from the Sultan to Gen- 
eral Grant, of no known blood, and were sup- 
posed to be pure Arabs. I told this distin- 
guished old gentleman that "Linden-tree" 
was much written of in America as a barb, 
when he laughed heartily, adding: "No barbs 
were ever in the Sultan's stable, as he does not 
like the people, much less the horses." 

The Sultan's stables are long, low buildings, 
with a row of wide stalls on each side of a 
passageway down the centre. They are 
very plain and the horses stand on the bare 
cement floor during the day, which is very bad 
for their feet. In the Arab barns we saw 
thirty-five bays and chestnuts, one black, and 
thirty-two grays and whites. Not more than 
twelve were pure white, and they had very dark 
skin aroimd the eyes and nose. The superin- 
tendent of the stables did not know the breed- 
ing of the horses, but when I asked about a 
beautiful gray stallion, he said he was of Bag- 
dad breed. This would be like saying he was a 
Philadelphia horse. A chestnut stallion that 
seemed to be the favorite, was called by the 








superintendent a "Nejd" breed. Now there is 
no "Nejd" breed; the people of Nejd buy their 
horses from the Anezeh, as Nejd is not a good 
horse country. I asked if he had any Seglawi 
Jedrans (the favorite breed of the desert) , and 
he brought four stallions, bays, which he said 
were Seglawi Jedrans. But when I suggested 
that a chestnut, a fine specimen, looked like my 
own Mannakey, which is a Hamdani Simri, the 
man in charge hearing the words "Hamdani 
Simri," immediately nodded, and said the horse 
was a Hamdani. This made me think that he 
simply was trying to please me. The Sultan's 
horses are of good blood, though perhaps they 
are not all that would please the Bedouin. 
They are kept badly and without exercise. If 
they were other than the Arabs they would 
have lost all semblance to horses, but the Arab 
can cavort roimd even with his flanks full of 
fat when another horse would completely col- 

As the horses were brought out in front of 
the main stables they were ridden by one of the 
most expert men I have ever seen in the sad- 
dle. From the point of style he was flawless. 
His hands were almost under him in his seat, 
any antics or play of the horses did not disturb 



him in the least, and his command of the horse 
was perfect. Not many of the horses had 
jibbahsy or full foreheads, so esteemed by the 
Bedouin desert tribes. They were ridden in 
a circle over a pile of loose stones about the size 
of hen's eggs. 

Yet over these rolling rocks they galloped 
and pranced, changing gaits as easily as an 
auto will shift its gear. We all commented on 
the fact that there never was a misstep, or a 
stumble, or a bimiping of ankles. A bay horse 
with a peculiar blazed face and feet, eighteen 
years old, was as nimble as any colt. Their 
lack of exercise was plain from their stuffy 
flanks, but their action was beautiful. In the 
stall they were tied from each side, and from 
the middle of the nose-band, and one, a white 
stallion, was fastened by the front pastern. To 
get exercise most of them had pawed holes in 
the concrete floor. All in all they were a fine 
lot of horses, but poorly kept, to say the least. 

The Sultan, himself, is a horseman, and per- 
haps knows the breeding of every animal in his 
stables. And he being a horseman, I would 
dare make a suggestion to him, as a Westerner 
to an Easterner. 

The horses in the Turkish Empire show a 



lack of good stock. They are deplorably in 
need of new blood. I would suggest to His 
Majesty that he send his fine stallions each 
spring all through the Empire and breed them 
to the really good mares which are to be found 
in all parts of the coimtry. The French Gov- 
ernment has followed this plan with excellent 
results. The fee should be small, of course. 
In France it is only $3.00 and this compara- 
tively small sum enables the poorest peasant 
to secure the service of the best stallions the 
Government owns. 

If this were done I venture to predict that in 
ten years the majority of horses in the Turkish 
Empire would be good instead of what they 
are now — ^bad. 

Germany and Russia as well as France have 
done this very thing, not only with their own 
horses, but with the very few which they have 
been able to import from Turkey. The result 
has been almost amazing. 

Then when one sees such a large number of 
finely bred stallions going to waste in stables 
where they are not even exercised, a sugges- 
tion like the one I have made comes naturally 
to one's mind. 

The Sultan has, of late years, established 



scxne f aims, wbere be takes pleasure in bleed- 
ings from the finest animals be has in his stables, 
and ifdiere be could start the foundaticm of 
M^iat would be immensely appreciated by bis 

It must be r^n^nbered that wboi we were 
in C<Mistantinople the old r^ime was at its 
best — or its worst. Perhaps among the re- 
forms whidi Abdul Hamid has promised since 
the "revolution" to his subjects, the improve- 
ment of the breed of horses will some day be 


'^^'^'Y ^^^^'^,n 

Up t 

Sultan, and might have coEt a lot ot 

human sulIerlnK, as bigh TuTklah of 

procure the Irade were In dangfr of bel 

thia iketch. and had it not been for 

American Conaul at Alexandretta, Ti 

dlHcovered It and my horaes and mareg been conQscated. 

was, tbe picture was smuggled onto the ahtp In a bale ot bay. l 

dare say It's a Btrong caricature o[ tbe Sultan Instead ot a 

character studyi though that matters little to him now. 

uble, to Bay nothing of 
I la that had helped me 
ng put in exile owing to 
'he Hon. J. B. Jackson, 
klsh spies would have 



At the time we were in Constantinople, to 
see the Sultan was an event. The only possible 
opportunity for the public (the very limited 
public) to get a view of him was at the Selam- 
lik. This was a sort of religious parade, ac-. 
complished every Friday, when His Majesty 
drove a few yards out of his palace grounds 
and down a hill to a mosque for religious wor- 

The custom of centuries, the Mohammedan 
religious law, even, had decreed that on every 
Friday the successor of the true prophet should 
make his devotions at the Mosque of St. So- 
phia. And for centuries the Sultans of Tur- 
key obeyed the law and custom. 

Every Friday saw them proceeding in state 
to the ancient church erected by Constantine 
when the cross was above the crescent on the 



Golden Horn, and there promising God and 
His prophet to maintain the faith. 

Even Abdul Aziz, in whose reign the eternal 
"Eastern Question" first began to ask emphat- 
ically for an answer, and who was murdered in 
1876, did this thing; even Abdul Murad, who 
was "removed" after two months of nominal 
rule, did it; and even Abdul Hamid II fol- 
lowed their example for many years. Then 
came more troublous times. His Majesty im- 
mured himself in the Yildiz Kiosk and the visits 
to St. Sophia became less frequent. Indeed, 
they ceased altogether. For, remember — the 
Yildiz palace is on the Bosphorus above Pera ; 
and Pera is above Galata ; and between Galata 
and Stamboul there is a long and treacherous 
bridge of boats, and between the bridge of 
boats and St. Sophia there are many narrow 
streets to traverse. From any window of the 
houses that line these narrow streets, a bullet 
might be fired or a bomb might be dropped 
and who the wiser, though the sidewalks be 
lined with troops ? 

Once in a long time Abdul Hamid made the 
trip from the Yildiz Kiosk to Stamboul down 
the Bosphorus in a boat. But Bosphorus 
boats, as many Sultans of Turkey know, are 



dangerous affairs, so even this was finally aban- 
doned. Worship was confined to the Mosque 
near the Yildiz Kiosk. Even in these narrow 
precincts His Majesty was not safe, as the 
bomb thrown at him a few years ago bears wit- 

It was natural, therefore, that the attendance 
at the Selamlik was carefully scrutinized and 
that one's credentials had to be thoroughly 
looked into before a permit to witness the cere- 
mony could be obtained. Generally the get- 
ting of the permit is a matter of four weeks 
or so, but we had no time to spare and so were 
prepared for the ceremony on short notice. 

It required real activity on the part of the 
Embassy to get us three to the post at the 
right time and it was at 11 o'clock Friday 
morning, July 20, 1906, before we knew the 
"one best bet." Our appearance was a shock 
to the dignified foreign consuls and ambassa- 
dors. For some reason or other, they did not 
think we were dressed exactly right. Moore 
wore his own trousers, with a borrowed frock 
coat which was a little tight for that kind of a 
day, and a borrowed plug hat (that's the only 
name to call it) which was two sizes too small. 
It is strange, but true, that some other fellow's 


'eat tor tbe dlplomatB when we lined up I 
BdmiaBlon to the palace. 


hat never looks quite right on you, especially 
if it's a size and a half too small. Moore han- 
dled his hat as a farmer does the parlor lamp. 
He dropped it once, and it fell out of the car- 
riage the same number of times. He didn't 
wear it, but he tried to balance it on his head 
as a carrier would carry a jug of water. 
Thompson did not have a frock coat, but he 
had a raincoat which he said he could button 
so that no one could tell it from a frock. This, 
with ordinary trousers, and a straw hat an- 
chored by a clothesline to his toughest button* 
hole, completed his outer raiment. As for my- 
self, I had a frock coat, with trousers of an- 
other suit, and a plain slouch white hat that 
looked well (I thought, in New York), but 
which showed the effects of the trip on the 
Oriental Limited from Paris. It was all right 
to turn water, but I saw that the foreign 
diplomats noticed the general outfit, which, in 
a baseball term, was not what one might call 
"team work." 

We were hurried into two carriages to the 
scene of action, with officers wrapped in gold 
braid distributed among us, which gave to the 
trip a military atmosphere. 

The feeble dogs dragged themselves out of 



the way just as the wheels grazed their hind 
quarters, as we rode through the hot, foul 
streets. Donkies, bearing heavy burdens, 
were yelled at by our driver; we passed line 
after line of soldiers, who all saluted; we 
climbed hills, where the cobblestones were very 
rough; we saw troops; we passed an officer 
mounted on a horse that showed much Arab 
blood. Finally we came to outposts through 
which few passed, but we drove on and on, 
passing line after line of strict guards. As we 
passed along, the fences and gates were more 
heavily plated with gold, and at last we ar- 
rived at the wing of the Palace facing the 
street. In the reception room, properly 
dressed diplomats stood as stiff as iron statu- 
ary on old-fashioned country estates. We 
nudged ourselves with elbows as we saw people 
recognize that this, that, or the other, of our 
garb, was borrowed. We felt that the whole 
Turkish Army, which had been drawn up in 
review outside the Palace, knew it. Still, in 
our awkward manner, we thought that the 
army, at least, might think we were diplomats 
from some countries that they had not heard of. 
As we were being presented to high Turk- 
ish officials, Moore nearly dropped the bor- 



rowed silk hat again, and an officer, who could 

speak a little EngUsh, asked Thompson if he 

did not find it a warm day for an OTercoat; so 

discovered, he took it off. We laid our hats 

on the big table, among 

the other plug hats, and 

some in the room smiled 


From the balcony win- 
dow we watched battahon 
after battalion arrive and 
form a mile in each direc- 
tion; all along the route 
of the short parade sol- 
diers stood with bayonets 
in their rifles. Band after 
band came, that reminded 
me of the Silverton band, 
in Oregon. One was actu- 
ally playing the same 
march we used to play in 
^^^.. Silverton — "Belgrade." 

*' r Royal Eunuch. . ^roops had been form- 
ing for more than an 
hour. We noticed that there was a great dif- 
ference between them and our soldiers, and at 
first we could not think what the difference 


was, but eventually we struck it. These sol- 
diers never smile. They look as if they were 
going into immediate battle. There was no 
expression of good fellowship; they seemed 
tired, and not one recognized, in any way, the 
comrade by his side. When they saluted the 
generals, or some high state official, the action 
was as automatic as that of a wooden soldier. 

And now the ceremony is on. The Sul- 
tan's Master of Ceremonies comes and we 
are presented. He is all smiles, and at a dis- 
tance, from the motion of his hands, you think 
he is washing them. He explains that much as 
the Sultan might have wished, an audience 
with us is impossible, but that he will be glad 
to arrange it for a later date. Through him, 
I thank the Sultan for the honor of the Irade, 
which had brought me to Constantinople. 

Presently a carriage comes up the little 
steep hill, with guards at the side. In this 
closed carriage we see two women with veils 
over their heads; beside them are sitting two 
girls, perhaps fifteen years of age or less. 
They peer at the visitors on the veranda, and 
in at the windows of the Palace ; they seem curi- 
ous to know what things look like outside of 
the three great walls. It is whispered that 



they are princesses, daughters of the Sultan, 
and that the others are women of the Harem. 
Back of this carriage walk six ill-shaped, 
gaunt, long-legged black beings; they look 
more like educated apes than species of men. 
Their hands are awkward, and their feet are 
long and vulgarly flat. All they do is to 
smile and follow the carriage, like coach dogs. 
Their long black frock coats even have a dis- 
agreeable swing; they are Eimuchs, and when 
they speak it is in a high tenor voice, not at all 

It is getting close to the hour of the cere- 
mony and some foreign officer in the Palace 
complains that the Sultan is late. A double 
line of distinguished men, nearly covered with 
braid and medals, and swords, marches down 
and forms a circle around where the Imperial 
carriage will be drawn up. These men are the 
guards of the household. Then three stately 
men, old men, march silently by. They are 
field marshals. Two small children appear on 
the marble steps where the Sultan will soon 
appear. They are the Sultan's children, boys 
aged about twelve and eight. Their uniforms 
are very heavy, but they bear themselves easily 
and naturally. Generals bow to them and 



their tiny spurs glisten from their boots, al- 
though no stick horses are in sight. 

While all is still, a trumpet makes a loud, 
long sound and swords and rifles, like one big 
click from a tremendous clock, are brought 
up to present arms; and then we hear from 
up near the top of the Mosque a priest yelling 
in a monotone, something that suggests a song, 
or prayer of some wild desert tribe. Thou- 
sands of soldiers yell at the same instant, as 
if by some automatic process, the same words. 
The sound makes you shudder with its wild 

An open carriage a)mes through the great 
gates, which sparkle like gold as they are 
swimg open. Surrounding the carriage are 
guards, with drawn swords and tightly 
clenched fists. Hitched to the carriage are two 
fine bay horses, with docked tails. Their coats 
are as golden as their harness; they prance, 
they need exercise. There, saluting in that 
automatic way, rides the Sultan. In the seat 
facing him is a ponderous man ; I don't really 
see him. I just see the reflections and high 
lights. I know that his local color is white 
and red and gold. They tell us that this large 
glittering object is the Minister of War. At 



any rate he seems to wear everything the army 
has ever captured. But I was there to see the 
Sultan — and to draw him ! 

Can you imagine my feelings? Here was 
a man, not twenty-five feet from me, whose 
features most of the world did not know and 
wanted to see; one of the great rulers of the 
earth who had never posed for a picture — and 
I did not dare pull a sketching pad from my 
pocket I 

I was afraid my eyes would not register. 
Suppose a fly had flown into them for just 
that brief moment? Suppose I had sneezed? 
It would have been rough handling, and it 
would have meant expulsion from the country 
if I had drawn a pad from my pocket, as de- 
tectives and spies stood behind us watching our 
hands. Worst of all, I was afraid that if I 
did make an attempt to sketch I would have 
my Irade taken away. So it may be plain why 
I did not notice the Minister of War, or who- 
ever it was in the carriage with the Sultan. I 
did not even notice the beautiful Arabian stal- 
lions which were led just back of his carriage. 
But my eyes did work and they did register 
even under such a strain. I saw the Sultan's 
features well, and they were mine; so mudi so 



that on his return from the Mosque, driving 
himself behind two white Arab stallions, it 
seemed that we were old friends. 

The Sultan is, after all, just a man; a frail, 
elderly man, enjoying, I should say, the best 
possible life under such conditions. Uncon- 
sciously he rather shrank from the gaze of so 
many hungry eyes, though he bore a kindly ex- 
pression mingled with a certain degree of fear. 
He looked like a combination of the late Nel- 
son Dingley, of Maine, and Mr. Nathan 
Strauss, of New York. I can say this with 
all due respect to the three concerned. The 
Sultan's forehead is a thoughtful one, although 
his fez prevented me from seeing how high it 
was. His eyes and eyebrows, while showing 
the strain under which he lives, also show that 
he is a kind father, and would, if permitted, 
be a kindly home man. His face is thin and 
frail ; his beard is carelessly kept. One of his 
eyebrows strays back of his eyebrow bone, al- 
most into his temple. As his carriage arrived 
at the Mosque, the generals fairly bowed to the 
ground. He climbed out as most men of six- 
ty-four years would. His children greeted 
him, and he turned to admire the smaller one. 



Standing, he is below the average in stature, 
slightly bent on the shoulders. 

He was fatherly to his children, turning aft- 
er he had gotten up three steps to come 
back one step and greet them again. I 
thought when I saw this that no matter what 
crimes had been charged to him, his expression- 
less soldiers, his army and its leaders were pos- 
sibly more to blame than he. 

If you ever saw Nelson Dingley walking up 
and down the aisle of the House of Congress, 
even through the worry and stress of the Ding- 
ley Tariff Bill, you saw in him a kindness so 
stamped that it showed through the slight 
snarl of expression brought on by overwork 
and bad light. So when the Sultan turned 
to help his little tots, who were playing 
generals, he was Nelson Dingley turning, 
though tired, to listen to the jest of his famous 
colleague, Tom Reed. 

Consider the handicap of being bom to be a 
Sultan, or a Czar, or a King; of being deprived 
of the opportunity of meeting the common peo- 
ple. Think of not being able to enjoy a fire- 
side chat with your family, or of the influence 
of a wife. Think of being brought up to know 
the earth only by its maps and not its dirt and 


t the stepa leading 


soil; its countries by the uniforms of their 
armies and not their peoples; to know just a 
few men and then only through layer after 
layer of cold, gold braid. Think of the ruler 
of a nation who has never had the opportunity 
of knowing personally the big, broad-minded, 
natural man or woman, and then you will not 
wonder at him for not having a fair imder- 
standing what the world is really for. The 
holder of such a throne only knows what the 
doorkeeper to the throne tells him, and these 
keepers naturally tell him what is best for them 
and for the people nearest them. The lessons 
that are in the lives of other men are kept from 
him. He does not even know how they lived, 
or when they died. I have heard stories of the 
Sultan's cruelty, and most of them I do not be- 
lieve. If he is cruel, his heart and face do not 
show it. 

So I think the Turkish system is more to 
blame for the Sultan's ill reputation than the 
Sultan himself. He has been forced to be- 
come suspicious. He has been able to trust no 
one and he has achieved the reputation of not 
being trustworthy himself. This digression 
will explain in part the impression reduced to 
drawing of my view of the Sultan. 



A greater part of an hour must have passed, 
while we could hear singing in the Mosque, and 
as the Sultan came out, he kissed the hands of a 
general of the Royal Guard and then half knelt 
before him. The fine rug was re-spread on 
the marble landing and a carriage was drawn 
up that had previously gone to the Mosque 
empty. It was a top-phaeton, drawn by two 
white Arabian stallions, with long, artificial 
like looking tails. They pranced, but were 
well broken and behaved. Two grooms in gol- 
den robes stood at their heads. There was a 
pause and then everybody opened their mouths 
and yelled. Guards on the marble stairway 
began to bow, some knelt, and slowly this frail, 
elderly man, with black coat and trousers, with 
a golden vest that buttoned up under his 
beard, came in sight. His fez was red, and 
the only other color was in the small plain 
bands of gold on each shoulder. He touched 
his lips and forehead with his half-closed hand 
and with the same mechanical stiffness. He 
tarried on the stairway, looked across over the 
tired looking city, turned half round, and saw 
a thousand cavalry mounted on dapple-gray 
horses, a thousand on black horses, a thousand 



on bays, an equal number on chestnuts, all hold- 
ing aloft small standards. 

Again came the yell that echoed over in 
Asia. One of the princes joined his father, 
who climbed into the doctor-like phaeton as the 
top was lowered, and took the lines where 
they had been carefully left, properly tucked 
between the white whip and the dashboard. 
The grooms left the stallions' heads and the 
procession started back. The fine white 
Arabs, rolling in fat, started to play, and the 
Sultan popped the whip on the loins, with the 
same peculiar jerk that common cabmen here 
use. He then held the reins and whip in his 
left hand, and saluted, when the great army, 
so statue-like and cold, fairly knelt to the 
ground. Back of his carriage pranced a black 
Arab stallion, and back of him a fine bay one, 
with white feet and a star in his forehead, and 
back of them two dapple grays. They were 
saddled and bridled in rich gold trimmings, 
looking fit for the Minister of War. But they 
were not for the Minister of War. They were 
there in case the kindly appearing old gentle- 
man might want to ride. He did not care to 
do so that particular day. He preferred to 
drive and as he passed up through the big, gol- 



den gates, his personality was that of an old 
man who might be knitting. He led you to 
believe that you had actually known him well, a 
long, long time. 

Our effort was to get out of the Palace as 
quickly as possible and draw the picture which 
I had in mind. It would be necessary for us 
to get some miles away, as we were already 
looked upon by the Turkish spies as men sent 
by the President of the United States to in- 
vestigate Armenian trouble. But after twenty 
minutes ride from the Palace, Moore sug- 
gested that I should not risk going further. 
He said I ought to put down the impression 
of this remarkable old gentleman before any- 
thing faded from my memory. So, guarded 
by two big stalwart young men, I made a 
picture, which pleased us beyond expression. 
I had got at something which made the draw- 
ing one of the man himself, not an idealised 
Sultan. It soon became our greatest care to 
know how to protect it. Under much persua- 
sion we showed it to an intimate friend of the 
Sultan in Constantinople; a man who had 
known him for forty years. After I had 
showed it to him, and he kept looking at it, I 
began to get nervous. It dawned on me all 



at once that if he said that the picture was not 
a good likeness, then my confidence in it as a 
likeness would be destroyed. But soon he 
closed the sketch book and handed it to me with 
a whisper: "It is the only picture of him ever 
made. If it is ever known that you have it 
your visit to the Ottoman Empire will be a 
sad one." He implored us not to write to 
America about it, but to keep it always in an 
inside pocket tightly buttoned. 

We thought we had carried out these instruc- 
tions. In Aleppo it was shown to only one 
man, and out in the desert only Akmut Hafez 
and Hashem Bey saw it. Yet when we ap- 
proached Alexandretta, on the way back, an 
American came three hours ride into the moun- 
tains to meet us and tell us that the Turkish 
spies in Alexandretta knew, or thought they 
knew, that I had a picture of the Sultan with 
me. He told us that if this picture was dis- 
covered all my horses and mares would be con- 
fiscated, that the Irade would be taken away 
and that the trip would count for nothing. So 
we put the sketch-book containing the Sul- 
tan's picture, in the middle of a bale of hay, 
which was secretly marked. Then we took two 
Arab soldiers into our confidence and told them 



to keep a secret watch out on that particular 
bale of hay. When we arrived in Alexan- 
dretta, the spy, who had seized our guns on our 
way in, hunted through everything, but failed 
to find what he was after. 

I had collapsed twice that morning with the 
intense heat, and went out with the first light- 
er of horses to the steamer. No greater sigh 
of relief was ever heaved than when I saw com- 
ing on the last lighter to our boat, as she lay 
anchored in the Mediterranean, the last of the 
horses and mares, and with them a bale of hay, 
that meant more than all the other bales of hay 
I had ever seen. 




Having seen the Sultan and having the 
Irade confirmed there was little else to be done 
in Constantinople. We were ready and even 
were anxious to start forward to accomplish 
the real end of the trip. From the beginning 
it had been my intention to go to El Deyr on 
the Euphrates and there purchase horses which 
I might be assured came from the Anezeh 
themselves. I was under the impression at 
that time that the Anezeh, not often coming so 
far north as El Deyr, would only be found in 
the neighborhood of Palmyra, that "Tadmor 
in the Wilderness" which is as old as Solomon. 

In Constantinople my views about going to 
Deyr, however, were somewhat modified, al- 
though my plans were not entirely changed, as 
will be told further on, until we reached 

At the Pine Palace Hotel in Constantinople 



we met Mr. Forbes of the firm of MacAndrews 
& Forbes, the largest dealers in liquorice root 
in the world, which makes its exportations 
mainly through Alexandretta or Iskanderoon, 
as it is locally known. Mr. Forbes is intimate- 
ly acquainted with the country around Aleppo 
and knows all about the desert beyond. 

Mr. Forbes laughed at the idea of going to 
the Desert at that time of the year, and said 
that we ought to stay in Constantinople at least 
until January before making the attempt. He 
declared that we would be unable to stand the 
heat, even in Aleppo, and that because the 
Bedouin wars had been so many and frequent 
for five years, his firm had discontinued the 
shipping of liquorice from points near Deyr. 
We admitted that our knowledge such as it 
was, had been gained mainly from the books of 
Mr. Wilfred and Lady Anne Blunt, written 
thirty years before, but that we were prepared 
to go to Deyr if necessary. 

Mr, Forbes still strongly advised against 
that plan, but gave us ample letters to his peo- 
ple at Alexandretta and Aleppo, and also 
cabled them that we were coming. Mr. Forbes 
owned an Arab horse in Smyrna with which he 
had won the Sultan's cup in a race, and had 



been trying to get a horse he had heard of in 
Aleppo. This was a great brown stallion 
which had been recently presented to the Gov- 
ernor of Aleppo. The Italian Government 
had tried to buy him, but he was known as the 
"Pride of the Desert," and had been presented 
to the Governor by the combined Bedouin 

Nothing, said Mr. Forbes, could persuade 
the Governor to sell him. He was beyond all 
value and price in the estimation of the Pasha. 
All this naturally aroused our great curiosity 
and interest and we were more eager than ever 
to be off, little thinking how well we were to 
become acquainted with the desert's pride and 
his owner. 

The next day we left Constantinople for 
Alexandretta via Beyrout, Syria, a rather 
roundabout voyage of eleven days with numer- 
ous stops. 

In Beyrout, through the kindly assistance of 
United States Consul Magelssen, we were en- 
abled to employ as interpreter for our trip to 
the desert, Ameene S. Zeytoun, who had been 
in the employ of the American Government 
for a number of years, and who spoke English 
as well as he did Arabic. The further we went 


Amfen Zaytown of the American Consulate at Bey rout, wbo 
was mjr Interpreter to the Anezeh. A more talthtut and tbought- 
lul jroung man I have never met. 


the more we congratulated ourselves that we 
had been able to secure Mr. Zeytoun's serv- 
ices. He was of the greatest aid in smoothing 
out any difficulties which arose from our ig- 
norance of the language or the customs of the 
people and was always diplomatic and courte- 

Nevertheless we were very glad to get away 
from Beyrout. We saw there the kind of 
"Arab" horse which could readily be sold to the 
stranger as the genuine breed, and we also 
encountered the crooked horse dealers of the 
East, who naturally swear to anything unless 
it be the truth. But we were spared from fall- 
ing into their traps and it was daylight on 
August 2nd, when the noise of the anchor 
chain, as it rattled down, woke me up as we 
were lying off Alexandretta. I had been 
warned against Alexandretta by Chekib Bey, 
the Turkish Ambassador at Washington, as a 
dangerous place to stop in even for a night 
and further by Mr. Forbes, who said it was 
one of the most unhealthy places in the world, 
owing to the mosquitoes, and the fever which 
followed their bite. We soon had first class 
confirmation of these warnings. 

Shortly after the anchor was dropped, two 



Englishmen came aboard and asked for us. 
They were from the MacAndrews & Forbes 
Liquorice Works. One, a Mr. Sneddon, was 
very sick of fever, and the other looked to be 
in a bad way. While I was producing a letter 
from Mr. Forbes Mr. Sneddon suddenly grew 
faint, and the other man apologized. 

"That poor fellow is down with the fever 
again," he remarked, and as Sneddon lay down 
on the deck he added : "It will only be for a mo- 
ment; he will be all right presently." Mr. 
Sneddon lay there groaning, but after a few 
moments he straightened up and read the let- 
ter. That's the way the fever takes you. 

Then we went ashore and as soon as we 
landed we ran against the ignorant red-tape of 
the Turkish empire. All of our guns were 
seized, except a three-barrelled one and that 
was exempted because the officials thought that 
the third barrel (a rifle one), was the ramrod 
holder. We just had to have those guns, so 
after breakfast we went to the Custom House 
where the Governor of the town was closeted 
with the Collector of the Port. Both these ofii- 
cials had orders from Constantinople to pass 
our sporting rifles, but they had been advised, 
they said, that our firearms did not come within 



that category because they could see no ram- 
rods attached to them. It was futile to enter 
into any argument and we soon learned what 
the trouble was, 

Al Hami Bey, a spy of the government, was 
the trouble. The Governor and the Collector 
were afraid of him. He had rumored about 
the town that we were gun manufacturers from 
America, and that our guns were only samples 
of what we were taking to the desert. We 
drank, it seems to me, as I look back on it, 
coffee by the gallon and smoked cigarettes by 
the dozens, but nothing came of these official 
hospitalities. We could not get our guns un- 
til further and more explicit instructions came 
from the Sublime Porte. That meant, appar- 
ently that we should have to wait until Al 
Hami gave the word. That man looked to 
me then and I have no doubt would look to 
me now, exactly like a spy. He objected to 
everything, and especially everything Amer- 
ican. It is this kind of man which causes the 
Sultan of Turkey to be much misunderstood. 
You could see from the spy*s expression that he 
thought Arthur Moore was too big, physical- 
ly ; and he was sore he could not have him held. 
The Turkish spy is always small. 



But the guns were not to be had. That was 
plain after what I had heard and seen and I did 
not want to stay an hour longer in the place 
than was necessary. So we decided to leave 
Jack Thompson behind us to wait for the cable 
from Constantinople and bring along the guns. 
He was to be taken to the mountains that night 
away from the mosquitoes and return the next, 
while Moore, Mr. Sneddon, the sick English- 
man and myself, together with three soldiers 
as bodyguards, were to leave for Antioch, eight 
hours ride toward Aleppo. 

Personally I was not sorry to leave Alexan- 
dretta. It is a miserable place built in the 
right angle of the Mediterranean, between 
Syria and Asia Minor. It is a small town with 
a large graveyard, and it is almost shoved into 
the water by the big meaningless mountains at 
its back. At a quick glance it would suggest 
the banks of the upper Snake River, in the 
northwest. The people have a washy yellow 
complexion, owing to the fever which is al- 
ways present. 

Its mosquitoes are smaller than the Jersey 
mosquitoes, but they are wilder, and have 
striped legs. They are the most deadly species 
of any mosquitoes in the Ottoman Empire. 



When you once become aware that these mos- 
quitoes are dangerous you are as watchful as 
if they were yellow jackets; you swing at the 
slightest sound. They sing in a higher tenor 
key than the Jerseyites. They are even still 
more elusive and I was surprised after my long 
experience in New Jersey that I could not kill 
one of these natives of Alexandretta. They 
were as wild as himiming-birds, and in their 
flying, dipped in and out much the same 

As Moore and I drove out of the town we 
saw an appalling sight. It was a little girl of 
about twelve years of age, whom the fever had 
nearly eaten away. She was coming through 
a graveyard with a jug of water on her head. 
Her lips were so drawn that her teeth were all 
exposed to view, and her arms and legs were 
mere skin and bone. She looked as though she 
had come from the grave. The graveyard 
through which she was walking was a low, 
marshy place where water buffalo wallowed in 
the mud among the rock-piled graves. Por- 
tions of the small valley between the town and 
the mountains were all taken up with swampy 
graveyards swarming with mosquitoes. It 
was a relief to get out of Alexandretta. 



But as soon as we came to the mountains we 
arrived at what seemed to be the cliff dwellers' 
home. There was a town of some size, built 
just as if the swallows had made it of mud, 
hanging from the mountains. The houses 
were perched on top of each other, all suspend- 
ed from the cliffs above. Water rushed in 
ditches between the houses. This was the town 
of Baylan, the first place of safety from the 
fever we had reached since leaving the sea coast 

The soldiers rode ahead of us to the thickest 
part of the village. We stopped there a few 
moments to take tea. During that brief space 
the whole population gathered aroimd leaving 
their shops to take care of themselves. 

We were now traveling on the finest moun- 
tain road I had ever seen. It was the old 
ancient Roman road and the same one over 
which Darley's Arabians had travelled when 
he was taken from Aleppo in 1703. We passed 
one point that looked dangerous; we could 
look over the bank more than two hundred 
feet down to the jagged rocks below. And 
then on and on we climbed over this wonderful 
mountain pass. 

We saw small boys herding long-eared 



black goats; we saw the packs of many hun- 
dreds of camels stacked at the roadside. The 
camels were away being herded in the momi- 
tains for food. Then the night came on and 
we could not see anything. 




We reached Antioch at 11 o'clock that night. 
It was the longest eight-hour ride I had ever 
taken. Shortly after we had left Baylan it 
began to become dark and Moore fell asleep 
in the carriage. Sneddon had been groaning 
with his fever. The soldiers were afraid to 
ride on for fear of Circassian bandits, who con- 
sider that part of the country their own. A 
tire came off the front wheel and the near horse 
dropped a shoe, but we hammered both on with 
rocks. It was getting quite dark, and jackals 
were barking here and there. 

After miles and miles of valley road, we cir- 
cled a lake towards some high rocky peaks. 
As we got near to Antioch we crossed an old, 
odd-patterned rock bridge, crossing the 
Pranties River and I woke Arthur and the sick 
man, as the carriage rattled onto the Roman 
pavement of the city. Our repeated knocks 



not only aroused the hotel-keeper, hut all the 
world, wolf-like dogs, at the same time. 

Our host was most civil considering the time 
of night. That is to say, he led us through 
damp smelling, rocky mud hallways to our 
room. This was an apartment about twelve 
feet square, that had windows looking out over 
the river. We were a scant story high. Un- 
derneath was a stable where we could hear 

camels grumbling and donkeys trying to bray 
and not quite succeeding. We were not very 
talkative. Moore looked at me as if he wished 
he had never seen me. I smiled a smile that 


was meant to hurt Moore, but hurt me worse. 
A half-naked filthy servant was trying to make 
us comfortable, but we had left our interpreter, 
Ameene Zatoon, with Thompson in Alexan- 
dretta and we could not understand. Sneddon 
spoke just enough Turkish to delay things. 
The servant only grinned when the latter 
talked and soon shuffled off apparently going 
nowhere. But there was a table in the centre 
of the room and also three benches. That was 
enough. We lay down on them and were 
soon asleep. 

About an hour after, the ragged servant 
waked us up and invited us to eat. And we 
ate. What it was we never knew or really 
cared — we just ate it. Part of it was a sort of 
bread with which we sopped up the rest. All 
was washed down with boiling hot tea. Then 
we made down our beds on the benches. Mean- 
time, I looked around the walls and at some 
small worn holes in the mud plastering, and 
roughly guessed the plot. Sure enough when 
the lamp went out the real hostilities began. I 
mistook the first two symptoms, but finally 
there was no mistaking. Moore and Sneddon 
were asleep, but restlessly so. The former 
fought as only a giant would, and even in his 



sleep he sat up and pressed the button on a 
small pocket electric lamp, and swept the in- 
vading hordes onto the floor as fresh recruits to 
tackle me. I had previously left my so- 
called bed for the floor. Daylight finally came, 
and it marked the dawn of a new world's rec- 
ord for me. It was the longest and worst 
night"! had ever put in. I dressed and got 
Baedeker and was not surprised at the way he 
describes the people of Antioch — "The popu- 
lation, consisting of Greeks and Syrian ele- 
ments are of a restless character." 

When Moore woke up I read that sentence 
to him and suggested that we should probably 
always remember what it was that made them 
restless. The sim hadn't risen yet, but I found 
my way down to the stables and the yards be- 
low. As early as it was, the town and the 
markets were astir. For a long time I watched 
the curious bargaining. 

For instance, just about sun-up, an old Arab 
and two sons came into the yard with a very 
old donkey, which must have been laden with 
five or six hundred pounds of some kind of 
dusty grain. The feeble old Arab left imme- 
diately and went away into the town. The 
sons spread out the grain for exhibition, but 



appeared as diffident as if they had never seen 
it. The father, it appeared, had gone off now 
to get buyers to come and see his grain, which 
he said represented the year's crop. I was 
anxious to see the return of this old agricul- 
turalist of a type so different from the farmers 
I had known so intimately in the west. Pres- 
ently the old Bedouin, with two buyers, re- 
turned. The latter seemed to understand each 
other. They lifted the grain in their hands, ex- 
amined it minutely, and then slightingly threw 
it back. 

The old farmer grabbed up handfuls and 
winnowed them to show its excellence, but the 
buyers feigned they were going away disgust- 
ed. At last the old man made a tearful appeal 
and the bargain comedy was well on. The old 
man asked the buyers to place their own value 
on the grain ; it was the last crop he would ever 
raise; he was in rags, he pleaded, and he was 
only asking a pittance to encourage his sons 
to go on where he was now leaving off. A 
more dramatic appeal was never made to a 
jury. But it fell on deaf ears. I was ready 
to buy the crop and give it back to him, had I 
been nearer home. But it was a poor place to 
show money, so I swallowed my feelings while 



the old man was weeping away his easily dried 
tears to await another cold-hearted buyer. 

After that there was little to do and it was a 
relief when we left the old creeping, scratch- 
ing town, jammed full of restless people. 

We hadn't found anything that we could eat, 
and were beginning to get restless ourselves. 
We were to wait for Thompson at the junction 
of the Aleppo road at Cam Khan (Inn) for 
twenty-four hours. If he did not come within 
that time we were to go on to Aleppo. Mr. 
Sneddon had returned with the carriage and 
the soldiers to Alexandretta and going on to 
the Khan we waited. There was absolutely 
nothing to do. We tried to sleep on a veranda 
which was directly on the road. Our revolvers 
were handy and we felt safe from human be- 
ings, but that was all. After a few hours we 
again sat up just for spite. 

Camels passed ; several hundred at a time, in 
single file, as silently as if they were ghosts. 
They were heavily laden with liquorice root, 
and the only noise that came from them was 
now and then the squeaking of a pack. At the 
head of each long line of them were a dozen or 
so small donkeys, like a school of minnows lead- 
ing a great band of whales. At two in the 



morning a few jackals on the crest of the hill 
one hundred yards from us, howled and barked 
as if there were hundreds of them. In the dis- 
tance we heard hyenas laughing in answer. 

Then came more camels. Three hundred 
and eighty-six of them passed in silent proces- 
sion, making scarcely a noise with their mushy 
feet and all slowly weaving towards the coast, 
laden with liquorice root. They didn't know 
it, but they were part of the Tobacco Trust. 
The whole of this load of liquorice root was 
for shipment to America, there to be spat upon 
the ground by the chewers of tobacco. It 
seemed quite possible that a large part of what 
the three himdred and eighty-six camels had 
on their backs, my old friend Bill Sterrett of 
Texas would use up in the next winter alone, 
and that if Bill would quit chewing, the per- 
centage of camels that pass along the old 
Roman road would be noticeably less in the 
future. Up to date I have not heard that Bill 
has reformed. 

Morning came and we tried, by signs, to 
show that we wanted to eat ; but it was hard to 
make ourselves understood, and we lived on the 
scantiest rations through the hot day. 

As evening came we saw some camel drivers 



eating grapes, and our signs, more strenuous 
from hunger, made them imderstand that we 
wanted some. They gave and we tried to 
pay, but the chief of the party let us know 
that we were welcome without price. He 
then took us to where there were more grapes. 
Finally we found a native who could talk three 
or four words of English, and for these words 
we made his old age peaceful and prosperous 
by reason of the currency we heaped upon him. 
He soon began, with this capital at his back, to 
order men here and there, and through our sign 
language and the word "Haleb" (Aleppo) , he 
understood where we wanted to go. We could 
see, however, because we were such easy marks, 
that he hated to understand. But about seven 
o'clock he kept saying the word "Post," 
"Post," and at last we gathered that at nine 
o'clock that evening the post coach on the way 
to Aleppo, would stop at the Khan and that 
he would, with our money, approach the big 
Khowaja (the conductor who carries the mail) 
and with more money we might bribe the great 
Turkish official to let us ride in the coach. 
Moore and I were skeptical about this, but cu- 
riously enough at nine o'clock along came the 
stage coach. The horses, four abreast, were 



on the dead run. Four soldiers galloped with 
the coach, two at each side, armed with old- 
fashioned rifles. The stage halted, and with 
great pomp the Director General alighted. 
He was ushered up on the porch of the post- 
office, where a feast of unusual proportion was 
spread for him. Arthur and I were kept back 
till the briber, with our money, went forth. He 
began bowing twenty feet before he got to the 
great man and finally crawled up to him as he 
made known his mission. He dropped two 
gold pieces in his hands, and the agent, with 
much dignity, was open to reason. Finally we 
were brought forward and came like two 
whipped servants, but we were for doing any- 
thing for the opportunity to get away. 

So after giving more gold, we were ordered 
into the low leather-covered carry-all and there 
lay in a half leaning, half sitting position, 
afraid to complain for fear we should be put 
off after all. But the gold had done its work 
and we were not disturbed. They were now 
hitching four stallions to the nondescript 
vehicle — two grays and two bays. They were 
better looking animals than we had seen on the 
carriages at Beyrout, or in fact at any place 
along the coast. They were hard and well 



kept, and wanted to get at their task. New 
soldiers took up their positions at each side of 
the coach. The driver climbed into his seat and 
beside him sat the man of dignity with a heavy 
rifle in his lap and our gold in his pocket. A 
groom pulled the mane from under the horses' 
collars and then with a peculiar low note from 
the driver, we were off at a gallop. At first 
we thought it was a runaway, but seeing no at- 
tempt was made to hold the horses back we 
came to the right conclusion that that was the 
regular schedule. 

It was a wild night's ride. I was lying in a 
cramped position on the mail sacks, but the 
thrill of the rough rapid pace made my cheeks 
first hot then cold. In the dim moonlight the 
Arab soldiers galloping beside us, were like 
silhouettes and rode like our Indians of the far 
west. Down a long slope we dashed into a 
valley. My eyes were fairly popping with ex- 
citement, though Arthur was dozing. Of 
course we had the best of the mail sacks, the 
soldiers had spread out to detect any possible 
danger. While the four stallions were gallop- 
ing true and strong, the driver suddenly yelled 
a long "Yeo!" "Yeo!" "Yeo!" I saw the 
soldiers dash ahead, drew my revolver and 



shook Arthur, but couldn't wake him. But 
just as I expected to hear shots, I heard the 
gurgling of camels, and these heavy laden, 
tired-looking creatures were beaten out of the 
mail coach's right of way. 

Our route then wound around the base of the 
mountain, and I could see a large band of jack- 
als. At a halt, after passing himdreds of 
camels, we changed horses, and took on three 
dark bays or chestnuts, and one gray, and off 
we were again. Soon we passed a camel train. 
One of the beasts, a yoimg one apparently, 
growled plaintively when he fell in a gutter and 
his heavy pack turned him in his fall till his 
light-colored belly loomed up in the moon- 
light. Feet in the air, he struggled while the 
Bedouins laughing, tried to quiet him. 

We changed horses again before daylight, 
and a pup that himg around the horses was 
presented to me by the agent, and I tried to be 
polite in refusing the gift. We had a chance 
to stretch our legs, and Moore began to com- 
ment on the wonderful beauties of the ride. 
He had slept through it all, but that made no 
difference to him. He really thought he had 
been awake and wanted to know if I had seen 
things that had not happened. 



The sun rose hot, and at first felt comfort- 
able after the rush of the night. The roadbed 
was now strewn with small, roimd, loose stones 
about the size of hens' eggs and worn smooth 
by the cushioned feet of camels. 

The last change of horses was truly remark- 
able. There were only three this time and they 
looked like old moth-eaten silk rugs. Two 
were white and silvery; the third was a bay 
with a coat as bright as gold. We saw them 
gallop over the stones for six or eight miles, 
and when they stopped for water, the bay 
pawed the stones and had to be held while the 
others drank. We both commented time and 
again on what our best horses would become 
under such conditions. From their appear- 
ance, these animals were of great age, and cer- 
tainly their usage had been the hardest possible. 
Still, their legs were as clean as those of a colt. 

Our entry into Aleppo was made in the fore- 
noon. The sun was as hot as it could possibly 
be, without burning things — and we came in 
on the dead run. They put us out in the 
suburbs, because the mail officer (honest man!) 
was afraid we should be seen. The mail driver 
made us imderstand by his motions and the 
word "Arabeeye" (carriage), that he would 



send a vehicle for us to take us to the best 
hotel, so we sat down at the side of the chalky- 
like clay streets, in the shadow of an artificial- 
looking fig tree, and eventually, the carriage 
coming, we drove into the town. 

For years I had imagined an entirely differ- 
ent Aleppo. I had pictured it as built in an 
oasis of the desert, with beautiful wide streets, 
clean and well-kept and lined with palm trees. 
I was wrong. In reality it is a city built of 
stone and mud. It has been tumbled down so 
many times by earthquakes, that it looks as 
tired as the old Roman road which leads up to 
it. Our driver turned into a small street not 
wide enough for two carriages to pass. The 
dogs were more plentiful than they were in 
Constantinople, and the stench was much 
worse. On the faces of all the young people 
were the sores of the Aleppo button, and on 
those of the older ones were the scars left bv 
that disease, and this added to our general de- 
pression. We were half starved, and tired out 
from the night ride and the effects of the sun. 
Our spirits were low. To tell the truth we were 
thoroughly broken down. We had cold feet, 
although it was 125 degrees in the shade. The 
stench grew worse, and as the streets narrowed 



down, and the people followed the carriage to 
have a better look at us, I said to Moore, that 
if the driver stopped then, and asked us to get 
out at a hotel, I believed I would coUapse. I 
had already given up. The letters which I had 
in my pocket and 
the Irade permit- 
ting me to export 
horses and mares, 
were losing their 
stimulating pow- 
er. For years 
my idea had been 
so different of 
Aleppo, that the 
shock was more 
than I could 
stand. Then 
while this 
thought was in 
my mind, in the 
midst of the 
very worst street and next to a most ill-smell- 
ing shop, our driver halted, and motioned to 
us to get out. Arthur refused to get out of the 
carriage and as one of us had to do so, I did and 
walked in to what they called a hotel. They 


were driving a mangy dog and a dozen 
puppies out of the room which was to be ours, 
but I couldn't take it. A man came and asked 
me if I could speak French, and although I 
couldn't, I held on to him by the arm. The 
natives could not understand "America' ' or rec- 
ognize that word. Then Moore suggested 
"MacAndrews & Forbes,'' and the man who 
spoke French took us to his place, where we 
met a protector in the form of a yoimg En- 
glishman of the name of Beard, and we hung 
to him on both sides. He took us to a bet- 
ter hotel, where they had a garden; that is, 
in the court, they had a potted palm or two, 
and in a little dusty corral a fat-tailed sheep, a 
donkey and a few chickens. It was as clean 
as a hotel could be in Aleppo, and most of the 
foreign consuls ate there of evenings; some 
of them slept there two or three nights of the 
week — and then tried some other place. I had 
not had, to my knowledge, any sleep on the 
coach and Moore refused to admit that he had 
had any, so we immediately went to bed. 

The next morning at daylight Jack Thomp- 
son came, with our interpreter and the guns. 
He had lost one of his teams over a high preci- 
pice and he and the interpreter had almost lost 



their lives. A camel train had crowded them 
as they came along in the night, and just as 
the team fell over the bank and tore itself out 
of the old harness, the men jumped out in the 
nick of time. Barring this incident Thompson 
had some sleep and was feeling better than 
either Moore or myself. He was quite excited 
at being in Aleppo. 




Even the arrival of Jack Thompson with 
the guns could not get me out of the blues. Of 
course we were in Aleppo (not the Aleppo I 
had imagined!) , but it did not seem likely that 
we should get much further. We had had 
nothing but discouragement from the MacAn- 
drews & Forbes people and I began to believe 
that our journey was over without the accom- 
plishment of what I thought I was so well 
equipped to carry out. I was utterly down in 
the mouth. Moore and Thompson evidently 
thought that something should be done to cheer 
me up (though they themselves were pretty 
melancholy) and so decided that if they could 
get me to some shop with an atmosphere of 
horse about it, I might be brought into a better 
frame of mind. Accordingly, with our inter- 
preter, and with Beard, as a guide, we started 



for the shops where they made the saddles and 
bridles, and horse trimmings which were used 
in the desert. In the poorly ventilated bazaars 
hundreds of Bedouins crowded aroimd to look 
at us. The ignorant stared while the better 
bred greeted us politely. To see three stran- 
gers, the smallest of whom stood six feet one 
and a half inches, was a sight to them. They 
peered at us genteely, and asked the interpreter 
if we were "Engleese." They shook their 
heads, as he explained that we were "Americs" 
and wanted to know where "Americ" was. 

While we were at the saddlery place, in the 
crowd of Bedouins looking on, I saw one who 
looked a little darker than the rest and whose 
teeth were peculiarly white. I remembered 
reading in one of the Blunt's books, that the 
Anezeh tribe had peculiarly white, chalk-like 
teeth and I at once told Ameene, the interpre- 
ter, to ask this Bedouin if he knew anything 
about the Anezeh. We had heard at Beyrout 
that the tribe was then two or three hundred 
miles south of Palmyra. Moore, in a good- 
humored, sarcastic way, said: "Here, if you 
are going to try and find the Anezeh in Aleppo, 
I will quit you; this man never heard of the 
Anezeh, he is a camel driver." While the 



translation was made to the Arab his eyes grew 
very expressive and round, and he said in 
return. "The Anezeh are within ten hours' 
ride of Aleppo; I am a member of one of the 
sub-tribes and have just come from them." 

At this Moore and Beard laughed and went 
off in disgust to look at some silk rugs. I let 
them go without a word. In a moment I saw 
another Bedouin, an older man with a grayish 
beard, but with the same peculiar white teeth, 
and from him, too, I inquired the whereabouts 
of the Anezeh. His answer confirmed the 
story of the first and he added something that 
brought me back to my normal spirits. He 
declared that Hashem Bey, the Sheikh of all 
Sheikhs, was then in Aleppo paying a secret 
visit to a man named Akmet Haffez, the diplo- 
matic ruler of the desert. He offered to take 
us to the house of Akmet Haffez. Jack 
Thompson's eyes began to sparkle again, and 
Ameene grew excited. If this were true, it 
seemed beyond a doubt that we could buy our 
horses directly from the Anezeh tribe itself. It 
was no longer a question of going to Deyr. 

We lost no time in getting into a 
carriage in which we drove through the 
narrow, dirty streets for a long way, passing 



old crumbling grave-stones in the middle of 
the town and then to the outskirts, and up to a 
two-story stone and mud house. Our cavass 
went inside, was gone five minutes, and re- 
turned. We were taken upstairs to an inside 
large room showing every sign of wealth. The 
furniture was spotted with inlaid pearl, and 
the divan, which ran all round the room, was 
of purple plush with gold and silver ornaments. 
Scattered over the divan were rifles that looked 
ready for action. Before we had time to think 
that this was strange, as only the soldiers were 
allowed rifles, everybody else in the room stood 
up and we too arose. Then slowly and with a 
stride like that of Sir Henry Irving, a noble, 
elderly looking Arab came forward. Any- 
where he would have attracted instant atten- 
tion. He looked like a bronze Grover Cleve- 
land in his last years. His eyes fairly glowed 
with smiles as he bowed low on the magnificent 
silk rugs. This was Akmet Haffez, the ruling 
Prince of all the Desert ! He took a seat on the 
divan and as servants put soft pillows beside 
him, he pointed to me to take a seat at his right. 
His slippers fell carelessly off as he drew his 
feet up under him in Turkish fashion. In- 
stantly a slave was pouring into small thumb- 



like cups cofFee which we had to drink, lest an 
insult might be offered. 

Ameene, our interpreter, now spoke, and 
told him why our sudden call was made and 
Akmet Haffez told us that Hashem Bey, the 
Sheikh of the Anezeh, had been his guest for 
ten days, but had gone the night before, back 
to his tribe, which was encamped at a distance 
of ten or twelve hours' ride. 

The dignified old gentleman then learned we 
were the people who had been in Antioch three 
nights before. 

"These then," he asked, "are the people, one 
of whom has an Irade from the Sultan of Tur- 
key, and letters from the one Great Sheikh of 
all the Americ tribes?" 

"Yes," he was told. 

The old man's eyes filled with tears as he 
looked at me, and his slaves and secretaries 
grew more interested, when turning toward 
Ameene he said: 

"Then you have called on me before call- 
ing on the Governor of Aleppo and Syria. 
No such honor was ever paid to a Bedouin be- 
fore, and if I should live to be one hundred 
years old, my smallest slave would honor me 
more for this visit." 



He was much moved and so was I; not so 
much because I seemed so unexpectedly to have 
attained my fondest hopes, as because I had 
met with a man. It was difficult to find exact- 
ly the right thing to say through an interpreter, 
but this fine old Bedouin was equal to the 
occasion. Repressing his emotion he said with 
a deprecating smile : 

"But after all you have not come here to see 
men. Better than that you have come to see 
horses, and I would be selfish if I kept you 
longer from seeing the greatest mare of our 
country — ^the war mare of the Great Hashem 
Bey — ^the mare from whose back he killed, 
among others, his most distinguished enemy." 

A servant was dispatched for her. She was, 
Akmet Haffez said, a present to him from the 
Great Sheikh, who had just been his guest; 
that in their religious custom no present could 
equal her; nothing but a gift from Allah, him- 
self, could surpass her. 

The servant returned and, led by the hand 
of this old man who was so impressing his in- 
dividuality upon us, we went down to the court 
yard. There stood a black slave groom with 
two mares, a chestnut and a small bay. Sev- 
eral hundred Bedouins and townspeople had 



gathered, but they fell back leaving an empty 
space for the mares. 

The war mare, the present from the Supreme 
Ruler, was the chestnut. She seemed to 

Hy Royal Preeeut, Wadduda, the War Mare.wltb Said Abdalla 

be fretting to get out of the only town she 
had ever been in. In her highly carried tail, 
I saw some blue beads tied gracefully in her 
hair. I knew they were to keep off the "Evil 
Eye." I went up to her, but she put back 
her ears as if she would bite or strike or kick. 
It appears that I, in European dress, was the 
worst object she had ever seen. Her name 
they told me was "Wadduda," meaning love ; 
that she was a Seclawie Al Abed, seven years 


old and had been the favorite war mare of 
Hashem Bey for four years. She didn't like 
the town, she wanted to go — and those who told 
me pointed to the desert. 

Two fine looking young men came up. 
They were introduced as sons of Akmet Haf- 
fez, who proudly referred to them as horse- 
men. The crowd was dense by this time, and 
the excitement ran high when the Bedouins 
were told that I had called on Akmet Haff ez 
before I had called on Nazim Pasha, the Gov- 
ernor. Many of the rank and file kissed the 
old Sheikh's hand in joy. Others came close 
and touched their cheeks to his. 

In the meantime, the older son Ali, who had 
galloped down a stony street on the war mare, 
cried out and was turning to come back. In 
a moment, she came tearing down toward us 
all afire, and the bounding tassels around her 
knees, looked like silk skirts. Such action 
over such rolling rocks! Her tail was high 
and her eyes fairly sparkled ! 

The son then rode the bay, a smaller Abeyeh 
Sherrakieh, with the greatest jibbah or fore- 
head, I ever saw. This small mare had even 
more fire than the other and we were afraid 
for a moment that some child would be hurt 



in the midst of her play and frolic. After this 
exhibition Akmet Haffez led the way to the 
court of his stables across the streets through 
the gates in a high mud wall and ordered the 
mares to be taken into an enclosure where he 
had many horses picketed. Before the big 
gates were closed he called by name several of 
the elder Bedouins and as they came through 
they touched and kissed his hand. 

The gates were then closed, and he stopped 
and extended his open hand as if to grasp mine. 
As I advanced to take his hand, his other 
gracefully warded me back. All this time the 
old Sheikh was talking in an emotional voice 
to the interpreter. I was fearful for the mo- 
ment that I had offended him in some way, 
though I could hardly think how. I looked 
upon Ameene to explain. I saw the inter- 
preter's face grow full of astonishment and 
wonder, and turning to me he said: 

"It appears that we have made a diplomatic 
blunder in calling on this man before we have 
called on the Governor, and he feels so deeply 
affected by it, that he wants you to take his 
hand, but not unless you can accept the great 
war mare as his present to you, with the 
Bedouin boy that now holds her. Her name is 



to remain the same, Wadduda. He hopes that 
when you speak the name it will bear living 
witness of his love to you and that the gift 
and its acceptance will be the forming of a 
friendship and later of a brotherhood that will 
never end." 

I was so much concerned at this, that I asked 
Ameene if I could accept such a present. The 
interpreter told me that under ordinary 
circumstances 1 could not, but under these 
conditions, I would insult Akmet if I did not 
comply with his wish. 

So I accepted the mare and the hand of 
brotherhood and the old Bedouin ruler seemed 
very happy. He told me that no money could 
buy the blue beads from the mare's tail, and 
that, for the moment at least, seemed true. 
When Akmet Haffez learned that Thompson 
was my traveling companion he immediately 
presented him with a young gray stallion. I 
am sorry that I did not have a moving picture 
machine so as to have photographed the antics 
of Jack when he realized that this horse was 
his. But in his demonstrations of joy, he 
brushed by and reminded me that a little 
over an hour before I was suflfering intensely 


Nasln Pasha, His Excelleucjr the Qovcrnor ot Aleppo 


from a malady called "blues" and asked me, 
as he pinched my side, if I had them now. 

Akmet Haffez was soon dispatching a mes- 
senger on a Delule (racing camel) to the Ane- 
zeh. When we inquired why, he said he was 
telling them not to move tent, or go into war, 
for he was coming the next day with us and 
that it was his first visit to his tribes in nearly 
thirty years. 

Accompanied by Akmet Haffez we then 
called upon Nazim Pasha, the Governor of 
Aleppo. The Governor received us warmly 
despite our break in etiquette. He sent for 
coffee and cigarettes, and lit mine for me. We 
talked of many things. He held a letter from 
President Roosevelt in one hand, and pointed 
to God with the other. Then he said a prayer. 
He told us that God must have brought us to 
Akmet Haffez. At this point the old Bedouin 
slid off the divan, and knelt in prayer. The 
Governor continued that he wanted Haffez to 
take us to the Great Anezeh, at which Haffez 
slipped off the lounge again, like a moxmtain 
sheep, and again knelt in prayer. When told 
of the present I had received the Governor 
bowed and touched his forehead, issuing a 
characteristic grunt in a deep bass. He was 



anxious to see my Irade, and again he seemed 
to ask a blessing as it was being translated to 
him. He told us as Akmet Haffez had al- 
ready done, the story we had heard in Constan- 
tinople, of his brown stallion, a Maneghi 
Sbeyel, a present to him from the combined 
tribes. He insisted that we must come the 
next day to his stables and see the horse. 

When we got back to the hotel Moore was 
there, and he began to laugh and asked us if 
we had found the Anezeh. We pretended for 
a while that we had been fooled, but he saw 
that we were enthusiastic over something and 
we could not hide the truth. None of us could 
sleep that night, because we were to start for 
the Anezeh tribe the next afternoon, where 
we should see members of every big tribe of 
Bedouins that go to make up the Anezeh peo- 
ple. And all this due to a simple question 
about a Bedouin and his white teeth. 




At ten the next morning we went with 
Akmet Haffez to the Governor's residence. 
Nazim Pasha had promised to let us see the 
"Pride of the Desert," the great brown stal- 
lion presented to him by the Bedouins. I was 
glad to have that opportunity for Mr. Forbes 
had already told me of the horse as you will 
remember ; but the heat was stifling, the reflec- 
tion of the sun from the red and white sand 
was killing and I was anxious to get off to the 
Anezeh with Akmet Haffez. 

Frankly I did not expect much of the "Pride 
of the Desert." I really resented the waste of 
time involved in this call on the Governor; 
Especially hard was it to go through the mo- 
tions of drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. 
I thought the time would never come when all 
the necessary eastern hospitalities would be 
over, but they came to an end at last and we 



were taken to a balcony of the palace to see 
the Governor's horses. 

Right now I want to apologize. I had not 
known what I was to see or what I was to re- 
ceive. It did not seem at all probable that the 
"Pride of the Desert" would amount to much 
— ^but when he was brought to the court yard 
I apologized to myself as I am doing to 
you now. We forgot all about heat and sun 
reflection. We could only think of -the horse. 

He was of the pure Maneghi Sbeyel strain 
and what a stocky fellow he wasl He was 
powerful enough for any purpose, especially 
for a long killing race where weight was to be 
carried. There was not a white hair on him, 
and Akmet Haffez began on his fingers to 
count the stallion's pedigree through his dams' 
side, each one of which had been the greatest 
mare of her time. Other horses were shown, 
but we remembered only the brown stallion. 

And here came the second surprise. Just as 
we were leaving the Governor's palace, he 
asked me to accept the brown stallion as his 
present. I had taken the war mare from Haf- 
fez, he said, and so I should accept this horse 
from him. This seemed to be beyond reason. 
The Governor was a poor man, and we had 



heard of the failure of the Italian Government 
to secure the horse, although a large price had 
been offered for him. But the Governor was 

"You have accepted," said he, "the present of 
the war mare, Wadduda, from Akmet Haff ez ; 
you must accept this horse as a present from 


So I did, but later in the day I sent to Hick- 
mut Bey, the Governor's son, as a present, a 
check for one himdred French pounds. 
Honors were therefore easy, but nevertheless 
I had had presented to me on the eve of my 
start for the desert, a mare and a stallion which 
I could not have purchased with all my letters 
of credit. 

The rest of the day was taken up in pre- 
paring for the journey to the desert with Haf- 
fez. At five o'clock we had left Aleppo. I 
rode Wadduda; Haffez was on a bay, four 
years old, a Hamdani Simri; Thompson con- 
tented himself with his gray, and Moore strad- 
dled an Abeyeh Sherrakieh mare. One of 
Haffez's sons rode the "Pride of the Desert." 
A priest was sent as a secretary, and Ameene, 
of course, accompanied us. 

The Governor had picked twelve soldiers to 



go as a guard, but I suggested that there was 
no reason for a guard when Akmet Haff ez was 
with us ; his presence was more than an army. 
The suggestion made an instant hit and when 
I asked the reason Haffez explained that the 
Bedouins had a poor opinion of such Euro- 
peans as they had seen because they always 
came to the desert surrounded by soldiers. 
The Bedouins believed that all Europeans 
were cowards. So, save for the rifle which I 
was carrying to present to Ilashem Bey, we 
were without arms. Several camels with tents 
and provisions, had gone on with cooks and 


extra camel men. It was a gala occasion. 
Akmet Haffez had not been outside of Aleppo 
for thirty years and, as he rode by my side, like 
a fine old Indian chief, his followers who lined 
the streets, were full of enthusiasm. It was a 
great evening. Still one thing bothered me. 
I had not yet made friends with my mare. She 
fretted and « was nervous. I was on her back 
without the flowing robes usually worn by the 
riders she was used to. Jack and Arthur had 
donned Arab costume, but at the last moment 
I could not give up my flannel shirt and my 
comfortable ragged coat and trousers. So I 



broke the rules of the desert and went as I was 

I argued to myself that some time Wadduda 
would have to get used to me and my clothes 
and that she had best begin at once. So I let 
her fret. We rode on for miles over dirt and 
rock and Wadduda still seemed fretful. She 
wanted something ; that was evident, but what 
it was I could not quite make out. Then sud- 
denly I was enlightened. 

Just as the big red sun was setting we came 
to the desert. Wadduda stopped as if she 
were paying some tribute to the closing day. 
The faint roadway now seemed to disappear 
and before us was a vast barren plain. The sky 
was of a soft blue, tinted to gold by the sun, 
which had just set. I turned in my Oregon- 
made saddle, as easily as I could, that I might 
see where the rest of the caravan was. The 
mare did not notice my turning. With a quick 
and graceful toss of the head, she began to 
play. I sat deep down in my saddle and let 
her frolic uninterrupted. She finally stopped 
short, and snorted twice. 

Turning slightly to the left she started gal- 
loping with a delightful spring. It was the 
return home, the call of the wild life with its 



thrills of wars and races; with its beautiful 
open air, as compared with the musty stuffed 
corral she had been picketed in. She was get- 
ting away from civilization and back to the 
open. Once in a while she stopped short, ap- 
parently to scent the rapidly cooling atmos- 
phere. Now and then she pranced, picking her 
way between camel thistles. Her ears were 
alert ; her eyes were blazing with an expression 
of intense satisfaction. All this time, I found 
by my wet cheeks, that I had been crying with- 
out knowing it. I was wrought up to a state of 
much excitement. I was again a boy and felt 
the presence of my parents, and recalled the 
stories of the Arab horses, they used to tell me 
when I was a child. I remembered the draw- 
ings I had made of them as a boy. It was hard 
to realize that I was I, and that I was astride 
the most distinguished mare of the desert. I 
seemed then to realize what she was and what 
she meant to me. My face was dripping again 
and I felt glad I was alone. 

Wadduda had stopped short again and was 
scanning the horizon. I touched the mare with 
my heels, but she did not move. She was 
thinking. Of what, who knows? Perhaps of 
her wars; or of combats on the desert, or of 



the keen edge of the Bedouin lance given when 
she had seen both horse and rider fall from 
the thrust of the spear of the Great Sheikh who 
had ridden her. 

So for a long time we waited together — ^the 
mare and I, in the gathering dusk, and as we 
waited I almost wished that we could always 
be alone. The call of the desert came strong 
to both of us then. 

But we were not to be left alone for long. 
The mare and I had ridden far in advance of 
the caravan, but now the people were gallop- 
ing along in an effort to catch up. They soon 
reached us and Akmet Haffez, who would not 
let me go astray in the desert, took his place 
on my left, and so we rode and talked on and 
on into the beautiful night. I was tired from 
the excitement of the secret which only Wad- 
duda and I knew and it was a relief to have 
Moore and Thompson tell me something that 
rested me. We were going to stop about mid' 
night at the camp of a cousin of Akmet Haffez. 
We were to have a midnight dinner and start 
before sun-up toward the Anezeh. 

But it was after midnight when we came to 
the singing and joyous Bedouins, who were 



shouting "Akmet HaffezI" ^'Akmet HaflPezl'' 
as we dismounted rather stiffly. 

I helped take the saddle off my mare, and 
then we were ushered into a tall, cone-shaped 
mud house and escorted to a divan where the 
quilts and rugs were thicker. Before us, face 
down, on the clean, beautiful quilts, was the 
cousin of Akmet Haff ez. He was mumbling 
a prayer and our interpreter softly translated 
it. The prayer was a beautiful sentiment. 
The petitioner was asking God to release him 
ever after from work so that he might stand 
at the caravan routes and tell all generations 
of the great honor that had been paid to him 
by us who were going to eat his rice and melons 
and who were to distinguish him further by 
sleeping under his shelter. It is true that the 
prayer was more eloquently thankful than 
most hosts would indulge in for a party so 
big and so hungry, but at the close of it we 
were led out into the yard where all his cattle 
and goats and sheep were resting and the sight 
of them made us more cheerful. Then we 
were taken into the cone-shaped mud house and 
there was a feast, long to be remembered. 

It was spread on low tables about a foot 
from the ground, with short-legged little 



wicker stools for us to sit on. On the tables 
was spread bread about an eighth of an inch 
thick and this served as a table cloth. The 
bread baked on rocks in the sun, was made of 
barley and wheat rolled, and now and then in 
eating it you came to a full stop ; a period as it 
were, consisting of a small gravel. In the cen- 
ter of the table was a large mound of finely- 
cooked rice and on top of this mound was a 
roasted head of sheep. The carcass, nicely 
roasted, was strewn around the moimd of rice 
at intervals. There were red, yellow and green 
melons; egg plant, chicken cut up fine, and 
clabber milk of the goat, sheep, camels and 
cows. There were grape leaves rolled with 
rice in the center and there were fine light green 
grapes and fresh figs. To drink there was a 
mixture of sour milk and water. 

When we sat down, I saw Akmet Haffez 
rolling up his sleeves. I saw no plates, 
knives or forks, or even spoons, but I took the 
hint quicker than Jack or Arthur. Possibly I 
had always lived nearer to the groimd than 
they. Akmet Haffez had no sooner plunged 
into the rice than I did the same. His motions 
were easy to imitate, still the Bedouins laughed 
heartily at the quick way I mastered their 



simple art of eating. We ripped and tore 
at the table cloth and at the other dishes for 
more than an hour, and then having washed 
our hands out of a peculiar brass pitcher, we 
returned to our sleeping rooms. The program 
was to lie down and sleep till about three 
o'clock, when we were to start again and ride, 
reaching the Anezeh, we hoped, before it got 
very hot. At three o'clock we were saddling 
the horses and were soon off. 

A couple of hours after sun-up, we began to 
realize that we were really in the desert. Two 
Arabs on mares, a gray and bay, came gallop- 
ing toward us. They were carrying spears 
that looked fifty feet long. As they ap- 
proached Haffez, they stopped and said "Sa- 
1am Alakum — "Peace be with you." They 
talked for some minutes, when Ameene told 
me that some of the Anezeh had gone across 
the Euphrates to war, but that Hashem Bey 
had left his cousin a few miles on where the 
latter would receive us. We were disappoint- 
ed that we were not to meet Hashem at once, 
but there was really no room for complaint, 
and with the couriers with the long spears we 
went on. 

It was about eleven o'clock when we reached 



the top of a small knoll. I was sore and tired 
for I had not ridden for so long in years and 
the heat must have been telling somehow on 
my expression, for Akmet Haff ez yelled to me 
to cheer up and pointing on ahead shouted: 
"Anezehl" I looked, but could see nothing. 
After a while, through the haze I noticed 
that the plain was covered with blackish tents 
and camels. And then the whole plain seemed 
to be covered with camels. In the distance 
they looked like row after row of tea-kettles. 
Wadduda was prancing. She had seen her 
tribe first. Tired as I was, it was a thrilling 
sight. It was the realization, at last, of a wish 
that I had cherished since a small boy, and my 
emotions got the best of me. We could see 
horsemen racing here and there. They were 
preparing to greet us and were getting into 
holiday garb. 

Frankly it was too much for me. I tried to 
tell Akmet Haffez through the interpreter 
what I felt and to thank him for what he had 
done, but I am afraid I made a mess of it. 
That kindly old man saw my emotion and 
replied with all the native courtesy of the 
desert combined with the manner of the true 
gentleman. It was an honor to him, he said, 



that we had allowed him to introduce us to his 

We were now getting near to the outskirts 
of the camp, and though I was as sore as an 
Aleppo button looks, under the excitement I 
urged on. We saw a big grass plot in front 
of a large tent. Haffez rode straight for it 
on his mare and as he dismounted, men came 
out and kissed him on the cheeks. All of the 
big officials had done this when an Arab took 
my mare and I got off. I could hardly walk 
and the heat was making me dizzy. I tried 
to be unconcerned, but my hips and knees were 
about broken. Sheikh after sheikh we met, 
and we bowed and touched our right hands to 
our lips and foreheads as they did, and then 
shook hands. We were led in under a big re- 
ception tent. The bridle from my mare was 
brought in and tied to the center pole of the 
tent, denoting that we were welcome. We 
were at last among the Fedaan Anezeh, the 
most warlike and most uncivilized race of 
Bedouins in the world. To be frank again, I 
was much overcome with emotion to realize that 
we were in the tents of the greatest war tribe 
of Bedouins and under possibly the most fav- 
orable conditions possible. 




Ameene felt that it was up to me to say 
something. Too tired to stand, almost too 
weak to talk from the heat, hunger and thirst, 
still I leaned toward the interpreter, and asked 
him to tell Akmet Haffez and the Anezeh, that 
while I had been bom in the far western part 
of what he called "Americ," I had realized, 
ever since a small boy, that I was just as much 
of an Arab as any in the desert and that now 
that I had seen the Anezeh tribe, I felt I had 
been one of its members all my life. I thanked 
Akmet Haffez for bringing me to such a peo- 
ple, for it was the supreme moment of my life. 

Without hesitation, this old man reached 
across the camel's saddle and with a voice full 
of emotion said : 

"No, the day is ours, not yours; ever since 
the Anezeh became a tribe we have known that 
one of us was missing. Now you have come 
and the number is complete. To-day we cele- 
brate the gathering of the entire tribe." 

And thus was I received by the Anezeh. 

[ 104 ] 



This interchange of formalities and courte- 
sies broke the ice and we instantly felt that we 
were at home in the Bedouin camp. Our hosts 
brought us a delicious drink of water mixed 
with curdled milk of the sheep, goat and camel, 
and we did not in the least mind that the water 
was muddy or that the mixture was stirred in 
a dirty pail with a dagger. We liked it all 
the more. Presently the slave who makes the 
coffee began to beat time on a large wooden 
bowl with ornamental sides. The stick he used 
was heavy, and in the noise there was a ring of 
ragtime that was fascinating. No tune ever 
impressed itself on me more than that weird 
coffee beating, the muffle sound of which could 
be heard a quarter of a mile. 

Coffee galore was served, but I had to de- 



cline. Haffez explained that I did not drink 
coffee, or smoke, but that he would take my 
share, and the grim Bedouins smiled. Never 
have I seen such a gathering as was seated 
under the big flat-topped tent \ Bedouin after 
Bedouin, as handsome warriors as one could 
imagine, all with beards, except the young men 
and boys and all so black that their high lights 
were really blue. 

Hashem Bey's cousin told us how sorry the 
great Sheikh had been to leave before our ar- 
rival, but that as the war was not believed to 
be a serious one, he would return in a few 
days with the 2,500 mounted men he had taken 

Our camels had now arrived, and our tents 
were pitched facing the Sheikh's, and many 
Bedouins were set to clearing the space of its 

They were anxious to see a letter from the 
Governor of Aleppo to their Sheikh, and the 
latter's secretary read it aloud. It must have 
been a pretty strong document, for at inter- 
vals everybody bowed, and touched their 
mouths and forehead with their hand. Then 
soon it was time for the feast. About two 
o'clock four men came, carrying an immense 



pan with more than two washtubs full of boiled 
rice on it, and on top of that a roast sheep. 
We began to brighten up. More sour milk, 
and grapes, and bread that looked like saddle 
blankets followed the sheep. About twelve 
Sheikhs ate with us at the first table. And 
never was there such rice and mutton! We 
must have consimied a third of it before it 
was given over to the rank and file, who put 
the crimp on the rest of it in short order. By 
this time our tent was up, and full of Bedouins 
looking at things. They were driven away by 
Sheikh Ali, and we were invited to sleep, 
which we did without being rocked. There 
was a quiet air to the place which seemed more 
restful, and in the morning I was up at day- 
light looking over the horses picketed here and 
there. Finally, picturesquely-dressed Bed- 
ouins began to appear. 

Not one of them was hurried. Everybody 
walked slowly and with a dignified sway. 
There was no rushing for the 8:17 train; there 
was no hurrying for the ferryboat; there was 
no worry over the market; there was no ex- 
citement over politics. Until I learned better 
that you cannot "hustle the East" this repose 
(you cannot call it laziness) seemed very 



strange. Later I began to like it. These big 
handsome men with well-kept beards and 
sparkling sharp eyes, seemed to have nothing 
to do, but when you had watched them for a 
while you could see how alert they are. They 
were anxious to see our firearms and knives and 
jewelry. They commented, with astonish- 
ment, on my knowledge of the technical points 
of their own horses. My pronimciation of 
words was often bad, but they knew that I had 
a fair knowledge of the different breeds and 
they brought up stranger after stranger that 
they might enjoy the astonishment of the lat- 
ter when I went over the families of the Kham- 
seh, or five great families of the Arab horse. 
When the sketch books were opened, and I be- 
gan to draw pictures of horses and men, their 
joy was almost childlike. 

Thompson and Moore had been exhibiting 
their cameras, but after they had seen me draw 
with just a plain pencil, they would have none 
of the camera. They examined the pencil and 
looked at its point. When they used it, they 
said it only made marks, but when I took hold 
of it it drew their horses, so it must be that I, 
they argued, was better than the camera. 

Our saddles were strange to them, especial* 



ly mine, an Oregon make with the latest cow- 
boy seat. I drew them a picture, showing 
what the horn was for, and after that, 
wherever we went the first thing they wanted 
me to do was to draw the picture of the cowboy 
throwing the steer. 

Soon after meeting Akmet Haffez I had 
told him that I was not a government buyer 
and, indeed was not a rich man. I made it 
clear to him that while I was prepared to pay 
good honest prices and did not propose to 
**jew" anybody down, still I did not intend to 
be cheated. Government agents do not have to 
be particular about prices and consequently the 
Anezeh have been spoiled. The money values 
they set on their horses are sometimes aston- 
ishing, considering what labor in the desert is 

My old friend put his arm around my shoul- 
ders and told me that he would tell everybody 
we met and everybody whose horses we cared 
to see, that, unless they thought enough of 
him, Akmet Haffez and his friendship to sell 
on reasonable terms, we would buy no horses 
at all. And this he did in a speech to the great 
throng of Bedouins present. I had come 
there, he declared, to study the Arab horse in 



his purity; that I was making pictures of him 
as they had seen and that I was going to write 
of his greatness. 

"I have presented to this man," cried the 
chief eloquently, "the great war mare which 
came to me from your great Sheikh, Hashem 


Juflt out of our tent squatted this young / 

Bey. You know, as ali Bedouins know, that 
no European could have purchased that mare 
at any price (and here all his auditors grunted 
their assent) , but I have given to him the mare 
Wadduda, whose name means love and affec- 
tion, and under that name I have given her to 



this man that she may be a living witness of 
the affection for him, not only of myself but of 
the whole Anezeh tribe. And in Aleppo the 
Governor gave to him the Maneghi Sheyel 
stallion, the *Pride of the Desert/ So now 
treat the man as you would one of your own 
tribe. Those of you who have for sale horses 
that are * Chubby'* he will talk with, but other 
horses need not be shown. Let it be a mat- 
ter of your personal pride that he takes from 
the desert only such horses and mares as the 
Anezeh themselves would want to have — ^not 
meaning only such animals as the European 
governments would use." 

Notwithstanding the friendship that had 
been shown to us by everybody, there was con- 
siderable disappointment among the Bedouins 
at Akmet Haffez's strict order. As Arthur 
and Jack remarked, it bound their hands so 
that they could do no "gouging." 

The first horse was brought for inspection 
by a very old Bedouin. The animal was a 
dark iron gray stallion, five years old, a Kehi- 
lan Ajuz, the breed from which all other Kehi- 
lans are off -shoots, and which is considered the 
best of all the Kehilans. This yoimg horse 

♦"Chubby," meaning **used for breeding purposes." 



was a powerful animal, but he had been in war 
evidently while very young, and so had a few 
bad splints. I was afraid to take him. When 
I asked to see him gallop, his owner, the old 
Bedouin, a small man far under the average 
height, riding a saddle without stirrips, flung 
himself on the horse like an animal and gal- 
loped over the rocky groimd in a big circle. 
The horse was all action and held his tail high. 
The faster the horse moved the better he went, 
and I found it hard, though it had to be done, 
to refuse him just because of a few splints. 

When horses were brought for us to in- 
spect, Akmet Haff ez told me not to seem over- 
pleased, no matter how beautiful the animal 
was. If, after I had looked a horse over and 
decided that I wanted him, I was to wink at 
him and then, if the horse could be bought un- 
der our conditions and no others, he would get 

When the Bedouins were showing a horse, 
or mare, it was quite a relief to see an animal, 
where the defects, if any, were never con- 
cealed. They just brought the horse and 
squatted down by him. No attempt was made 
to straighten his mane. If he had a blemish, 



they were more than likely to back him up to 
you. so the blemish was the first thing you saw. 

All yoimg horses which were brought, Haf- 
fez measured from the centre of the knee j<)int 
to the hair line of the hoof, and applied that 
measurement four times in the direction of the 
horse's withers, to see how much more it would 
grow, if any. While the Bedouins consider a 
horse over fifteen hands high inferior to one 
under fifteen hands, I told them that if possi- 
ble, I wanted to get large animals as people 
in America preferred size. 

On the second day, a light gray horse colt, 
four years old, was shown. He had been bred 
by Sheikh Ali and was a Seglawi Obeyran. 
His dam was one of the favorite war mares of 
Hashem Bey and his sire was an Abeyan Sher- 
rak. Sheikh Ali, Akmet Haffez, Ameene, the 
interpreter, and myself took seats on the 
ground and while the other Bedouins kept 
away from us we bargained for him. 
Sheikh Ali thought that owing to the 
animal's distinguished dam he ought to have 
more money than Haifez was willing to pay. 
I was afraid that Haffez was drawing a line 
so fine that we would make enemies in the 
desert, where I wanted only friends. After a 

[ 115 ] 


long argument, Haffez got up and went away. 
Sheikh All followed him, and Haffez, turn- 
ing, extended his hand, but the other Sheikh 
would not take it. I asked the interpreter 
what they meant and he told me that Akmet 
HafiTez did not believe the price asked for the 
horse was a true estimate of their friendship, 
and that the other man insisted that Haffez, 

who had not been to the desert for many years, 
was ignorant of the recent prices which the 
Anezeh had been getting for horses. Haffez 
had replied that he knew fbe price that every 
horse had brought and that on the price of 


every horse sold out of the desert, he, in Alep- 
po, got a commission of five poimds, just as 
Hashem Bey, the Sheikh of the Anezeh did. 
On this occasion he said he was not taking any 
commission, and that he would not allow me 
to buy any horse except at a fair price. 

We three Americans were astonished at this 
performance, and so was Ameene. The lat- 
ter had seen the miserable gang of cut-throats 
around Beyrout that were trying to sell us 
horses whose most exaggerated value would 
have been about two pounds. Truly we were 
in safe hands in the desert. 

When I heard that there was only $20 dif- 
ference between Akmet Haff ez and Sheikh Ali 
on the price of the gray, I told Haff ez that we 
were to be the guests of Sheikh Ali for three 
days, and, as he would then have to feed all our 
horses, camels and men I would like to buy 
the horse, even against Haffez's will. So I 
bought him. As I rode home, we f oimd out, 
as Akmet Haff ez told us before we left Alep- 
po, that the poorest horse we had, I had bought 
against his wishes. 

Late that afternoon a man came riding a re- 
markable gray mare. She looked so different 
from the other mares that I could hardly wait 



for Haffez. When I asked if she was "Chub- 
by," the Bedouin smiled, and almost lauded, 
when he said "Kefailan Ajuz," which is equiva- 
lent to saj-ing, "Rather, she's the dam of all 
that is chubby." 

She was a picture, though she had no jibbah, 
or bulging forehead. On the contrary her 
forehead was as flat as a board, but her eyes 
were far apart and set in the peculiar Japanese 
slant. They were turned up at the outer cor- 
ners like those of a chorus-girl with a 1907 


make-up. There was the same stately dignity 
about her that Wadduda had ; she looked like a 
fine lady of quality in the presence of a lot of 
cooks at an employment agency. In my ef- 
forts to buy her, before Haffez got out of the 
tent, the Bedouin smiled and laughed, and, 
when Haffez came out, without looking to see 
who was on her back, he too began to roll with 
laughter. Then he looked at me as if urging 
me on to buy her quick. Ameene began to 
laugh, too, and finally explained that the joke 
was on me. The mare it seems could not be 
sold. She was famous from Nejd to Aleppo, 
and was owned on shares by the Anezeh. She 
had been ridden over simply to find out if we 
would like to look at her last son, a colt two 
years old. I asked if we could not break the 
rule and still buy her, and all I got was another 

Neither the mare nor any of her daughters 
could be sold, and all in the female line were 
retained by the Anezeh. At that time she was 
twelve years old and looked four. When she 
was seven or eight years old she had swept the 
desert for speed. Six years before the Ger- 
man Government had paid four himdred 
pounds for her three-year-old son. We stood 



immovable as she was galloped away to fetch 
the colt which we were to see, and which I 
had already made up my mind to buy, no mat- 
ter if his legs were crooked. 

It was nearly sun-down when the same 
Bedouins returned riding the colt, and, when 
he was a hundred yards away, Thompson, 
Moore and myself, all remarked that anyone 
could tell who his mother was for his eyes were 
set in the same peculiar manner. It was 
evident from our measurement that he was 
not going to be as big as his mother, but that 
he showed the same characteristics was enough. 
He was absolutely free from blemish of any 
kind. He was a pink gray that would prob- 
ably shed out into white; his disposition was 
as perfect as his mother's and, although a scant 
two years old, his manners were those of a little 
gentleman, and we came to terms rather quick- 
ly. When a price was finally agreed upon, 
Haffez always called me and the Bedouin to 
him. Taking the right hand of each of us, he 
would join them; then laying one of his hands 
over ours and pointing up, he would ask the 
Bedouin if he would swear before God that 
everything he said was true, and if he would 
be willing, with God as a witness, to ask the 


Acbmet HalTez would join our bands Just before tbe bane 
WBB bongbt, [hen reating hia hands on oura, would ask tho 
warrior lo repeat to God all he had Just said about the animal, 
then vlth a toss o[ our bands the deal was closed. 


Sheikh of the tribe to put his seal on the bar- 
gain. Then if the Bedouin said yes, Haffez 
would toss the hands up and the deal was 
closed. We felt exceedingly proud of this 
two-year-old. The Bedouins came and sat 
round him in honor of his distinguished 

Later Arthur and Jack had a laugh on me. 
We saw a bay mare galloping at some distance 
and her action impressed us all, but me espe- 
cially. As the rider came closer the others 
said the mare was limping, but I was doubtful. 
She moved so well that I had hopes of buying 
her if she filled Haff ez's measure. But to our 
astonishment when she came walking up we 
f oimd that one of her pasterns had been broken. 
She was walking on the ankle joint, the foot a 
withered-up dried object, being turned up at 
the outer side like that of a dead horse. We 
learned she had been injured in war and that 
the accident only hindered her speed a little. 




Arthur Moore, riding Akmet Haffez's 
Abeyeh Sherrakieh mare, an animal with a 
wonderful head and build, was to go back to 
Aleppo at this time with Jack Thompson and 
Faiot, Haffez's younger son, to procure more 
tea, of which the Bedouins were very fond. 
Indeed we had used up nearly all we had 
brought out for the entire trip, in our first three 
days at the camp. He was also going to bring 
some more gold, and his Mauser rifle. We 
were nine hours ride, about thirty-five or thir- 
ty-six miles from Aleppo, and while my com- 
panions were gone I tried to come to an agree- 
ment with Haffez over the mare which Moore 
was riding. She had been taken in war by 
the Anezeh, from the Shanmiar, across the 
Euphrates, and her pedigree bore the last seal 



of Sheikh Faris, the great enemy of the 
Anezeh, who had been dead two years. She 
was small, not more than fourteen hands two 
inches high, but I never saw such beautiful hind 
quarters and back tendons on anything in 
horse flesh. 

Now every time I had tried to buy this mare 
from Haffez he turned it off with a joke, say- 
ing that everything he had was mine and that 
there was nothing to buy. Then when he 
would apparently talk seriously about selling 
her, he would warn me to be careful for the 
agreement he had made with the Anezeh was 


Tbls mare's liead was considered b7 the Bedouins the most 

perfect of the Atiezeb. 

not binding between us, and that he would 

dicker and bargain as best we could. Even 

when I consented and asked him to put a 


Abeyah'B pedigree bBarlug tbe last seal of Fares (tbe dark one). 

I, Fnres EJI-Jarbah, hereby testlf; that tbe red mare wblch 
has white on Its face and on its long hind legs, Is Aberah 
Sbrakleh of tbe breed of Matbaba El-Hadab. Sbe was bred 
Id the darkoeas ot night and Is purer than milk. And we 
have not testlfled eicept to what we bare known, and we are 

Witness thereot; Pares Ei.-Jarbah. 
I teatltT bT Allab tbat tbe atorementloned witness. Fares 
Bash a Ibn Atrat, Is a rock ol truth, and his testimony la 

(Signed) AHUjtD HAFEZ. 


price on her, he said ten pounds, and that threw 
the whole thing back into the joke basket. 
But that night I finally got him. I told him 
seriously that above all the mares I had seen 
on the desert, I wanted his Abeyeh Sherrakieh, 
because of her fine head. So he finally set a 
price which seemed reasonable, and I offered 
him ten pounds more and made him take it. I 
also bought his Hamdanieh Simrieh filly, four 
years old, a bay, which he himself rode. I 
think she can outwalk anything in horse flesh 
I ever saw, and I believe that even in a field of 
exceptionally fast walking horses, she would 
be five miles ahead of the lot in an all-day walk. 
She and her sister, with a broken shoulder, were 
the only Hamdanieh Simrieh in the northern 
part of the desert. The Anezeh told me there 
were some in the Shammar, but only a few. 
They are the rarest horses in the desert, and 
the blood is held in higher esteem than any- 
thing else. 

I hope I have succeeded in impressing the 
reader with the very fine nobility of character 
of Akmet Haffez. My friendship with him 
and my admiration for him began at our first 
meeting in Aleppo and each day made both 
stronger. And now I was to come into closer 



relations with him. The morning after the 
mare became mine we were to start on the visit 
to Sheikh Ali and just before we mounted I 
went through the ceremony which made me his 

Neither of us had brothers and so we agreed 
to follow out our old custom of the Bedouins 
and take the fraternal pledge. I first treated 
the matter a little too frivolously, but the 
Bedouins were very solenm. 

Standing at one side of the tent, in the pres- 
ence of many witnesses, we held up our right 
hands and, with our left clasped together, re- 
peated the pledge. Akmet Haff ez began with 
the words, "Wallah! Wallahil" ("O God! My 
God I") which I repeated after him. "Wallah 1 
Wallahil" and then together we said them over 
and over again. 

"Billahl BiUahil Tillahl TiUahil" chanted 
the old Bedouin. "Akhwan, akhwan, el yom wa 
bookra wa Tal abad, akhwan." ( "By God and 
through God, brothers, to-day and to-morrow 
and forever brothers!") 

I felt nothing of frivolity now and as I 
grasped his hand and took the oath my eyes 
were moist. After it was over he asked how 
I felt now that I was the brother of a brown 



old man, who ate with his hands. I replied 
that I felt no change ; that we had apparently 
always been hrothers, whereupon he began to 

Who Imew, he asked, but that we had been 
through a similar ceremony that God himself 
had performed cen- 
turies ago on some 
other planet. 

Shortly after, we 
started for Sheikh 
Ali's tribe, the 
Abogonese, a 
branch of the Ane- 
zeh, who seldom 

im tar cnii+li in th*> Sheikh All Raahld o£ the Abo-Gomeae, 
go lar SOUTH m tne „ sub-trlbe ot the Anezeh. 


Sheikh Ali greeted us warmly and accom- 
panied US on a ten-hour night ride to a Cir- 
cassian village near the Euphrates, to see a 
gray colt, a Kehilan Jilfan Stam el Bulada, a 
young horse whose dam was a distinguished 
war mare. This ride on a hot night was very 
trying, but the Bedouins beguiled the time 
with the melancholy song so common among 
them and with many curious questions about 



The shooting stars which fell in eveiy direc- 
tion in the desert heavens, were playing like 
Pain's fireworks, but I was so tired and sleepy 
that it was with diflSculty that I kept awake. 
About three in the morning we stopped at a 
small village consisting of a dozen houses. The 
villagers were aroused by a barking of the dogs 
and when they heard the words, "Akmet Haf- 
fezl" they got up instantly and made us wel- 
come, and we slept in the beds they had just 
quitted, till about five o'clock, when we started 
on again. About ten the next morning we 
arrived at the Circassian village, and after see- 
ing the colt and having had a few more hours' 
rest, we felt well repaid for the trip and bought 
the horse as well as a bay colt with a peculiar 
dark brown spot on his right flank — a Maneghi 
Hedruj. At the same place we secured a 
chestnut two-year-old, an Abeyan Sherrak, 
which had been recently brought from Deyr, 
on the lower Euphrates. This little fellow 
was so full of life that they had to show him 
with all four feet hobbled, but he understood 
the hobbles so well that in his pacing motion he 
managed to make much play. All these three 
colts were bred by the Anezeh. 

While at this village we saw a gray mare, 



four years old, that stood fifteen hands and 
two inches high, which I wanted to buy very 
much; but she was not 
"Chubby" and Haffez 
thought the asking price 
was too large, so we didn't 
get her. At this same vil- 
lage, a Circassian came 
along with a beautiful filly. 
Whenever I approached 
her she would stamp as a 
sheep does at a strange 
dog, turn and try to kick 
me — anything to keep me 
away. I asked the Cir- 
cassion if she was "Chub- 
by," and he told me "Yes." ^ 
When Haffez came out, he This ha-asome B^doum 
said "Chubby?" and the qufte"'a'diXn<fe""tth"u 
Circassian told him "Yes." [^^V; ^^f %,^\^ 
I saw a Bedouin whisper '^^^l "'^^l^'Vy''-^::^^ - 
to Haffez, and the latter ;;;'i''„i"h^"L'''Hnrt*'i?"n: 
ran over and gripped the 
Circassian by the right ' 
hand, and asked him to say to Giod that she 
was "Chubby." If you ever saw a fellow pull 
loose quick, it was this Circassian. He yelled 


in his efforts to get away, and at the same time 
saying the mare was "Chubby" to me, but not 
to God. 

It was such a hot day that we had not gone 
out of the house except to look at colts. Final- 
ly a messenger came from the Governor's of- 
fice, saying that his Excellency was much put 
out, as he had been sitting at his office in state, 
ready to receive us, for the last two or three 
hours, and that he was anxious that we should 
call on him, in order that he could return our 
visit. So with Akmet Haff ez and Sheikh Ali, 
we went through the blinding heat to the old 
rock-and-mud-built Governor's Palace. 

We were ushered in and passed the body- 
guard of the Governor, which consisted of an 
Arab with a spear, a soldier with an old-fash- 
ioned gun, and another man with a sort of a 
tomahawk. The Governor had a very long 
and narrow face, with a small black chin 
beard. He wore a fez and nervously 
counted beads, much irritated at his servants 
because of the irregular way they served the 
coffee and cigarettes. He kept Ameene, the 
interpreter, busy, for he wished to know all 
about us — from where we had come and when 
we were going. After I had made a bluff at 



smoking fifty cigarettes, and drinking as many- 
cups of coffee, we were served with some of 
that red sticky lemonade, or syrup, which 
seemed to completely close our throats. 

All this time the Governor sat on an old 
dais, trying so hard to be dignified that it was 
almost humorous. A row of men against the 
opposite wall of the room seemed to be mem- 
bers of his cabinet, or advisory board, and they 
were mostly very fat men. 

As we started to leave one of the fat men 
whispered something to Sheikh Ali, and after 
we were outside I noticed that the big hand- 
some Sheikh had been detained. Haff ez came 
to me with a peculiar twinkle in his eye and 
told me that apparently we had gotten into a 
queer situation. Sheikh Ali, it seems, had 
been "wanted" for murder in Membig for a 
number of years, and as this was the first time 
he had been to the town for more than eight 
years, he had been detained. Haffez wanted 
me to go back to the Governor and tell him 
that as Sheikh Ali was my guest it would 
not be fair to arrest him now. In other words 
I was to inform his Excellency that his fingers 
were crossed and that he ought to turn Ali 



loose. After I had gone, if they could take 
him, well and good. 

I was getting ready to go to the Governor's 
office and spring the speech, when Ali himself 
came out with a broad grin, saying that the 
Governor had let him off from the murder pro- 
vided he resumed paying his camel tax, which 
had been overlooked since the murder was 
committed. We had hardly stopped laughing 
and gotten back to our own quarters, when an 
excited servant came dashing ahead to clear the 
way and to tell us that the Governor was about 
to repay our visit. 

When the Governor came, after the usual 
rush of coffee and cigarettes, we had rather a 
pleasant visit and talked as if we had not seen 
each other five minutes before. He was much 
interested in America and its political customs. 
At the request of Akmet Haffez, I told him 
some Silverton stories. He was more than in- 
terested in my father and requested to be in- 
formed of the latter's health as soon as I re- 
turned to America. There was no more talk 
of Sheikh Ali's crime and I have often won- 
dered whether he is paying those camel taxes I 




This chapter is going to be a digression. I 
am going to let horses go by for the moment 
and talk about something else. So you have 
fair warning to skip the chapter and catch up 
further on. But after all, my present text is 
"dog"; and if you are truly a horse-lover you 
must almost always necessarily be a dog-lover. 
The two things somehow go together. 

Besides, although the rather involved story 
I am about to relate, began in Morris Plains, 
N. J., and was continued in Paris, Constanti- 
nople and Aleppo, it ended in the desert and 
on the way to visit the Sheikh Ali, of which I 
told in the last chapter. That is my excuse 
to you for telling it at all. To myself I do not 
have to make any excuse of any kind — I just 
simply have to tell the story. And here it is 
for what it is worth : 

When I left Morris Plains I wanted to take 



with me two worthy Airedale terriers that 
were more or less (rather more) members of 
the family. Instantly there went up from the 
hmnan part of the household, a wail that the 
dogs would be in the way. One of the dogs 
had been on a trip as far as Oregon, and had 
never been in the way; but as this wail went 
up from everybody who was not in the least 
concerned in the matter, and notwithstanding 
that the dogs wanted to go, I chucked the plan. 
I hated to leave them, for a dog's love in a 
strange place is comforting, and these two dogs 
I had known from puppies, and they knew 
me. But they were left behind and not even 
allowed to say good-bye to me at the station, 
and after that, they were forgotten for a time 
at least. 

On the voyage to Havre we met a traveller, 
an Englishman, of course, who had lived and 
hunted everywhere, and who insisted at every 
point in the conversation "that on the Eu- 
phrates River, one always needed a dog." 
That was enough ; I am not a hunter, but I was 
pining for an excuse to get a dog. So, at 
Paris, the first thing I inquired for was a dog 
shop which had for sale the right kind of a 
dog. Mile after mile I rode in taximeters and 



borrowed autos, always hunting dogs, and at 
the last moment I got on the track of a shop 
and such a dog as I described ; a dog that would 
be a companion, a hunter, and above all a 
friend. But we had little time left in which 
to buy a dog. 

We were actually on the way to catch the 
Orient express for Constantinople before we 
got a chance to go to this particular dog shop. 
A woman ran it ; a dark-complexioned woman, 
with black hair which was exquisitely smooth. 
She showed the dog ; it was a large black-and- 
tan with a bobtail — ^a restless sort of cur which 
she declared was a sheep-dog. Anyway, she 
called it something in French, which Moore 
said meant "sheep-dog." We didn't believe 
Moore in the least on principle, but we believed 
the woman. She was so attractive that we 
hardly saw the dog, and when she made eyes 
at us we realized only one thing and that was 
that she would have made a fortune in a New 
York dog store — or almost any other kind of 
a store. 

So we bought the dog. We didn't like him, 
but we bought him just the same on her guar- 
antee that he would be a charming companion. 
That seemed enough at the time. On the train 



he was nervous and wanted to get away from 
me. He seemed to be everybody's dog but 
mine. When we arrived at Constantinople he 
and I were as distant as ever, and at Beyrout it 
was the same. Wherever we stopped he rec- 
ognized that I was in the party, but that he 
was not mine. He was more of a nuisance than 
a dog. He did not have anything to recom- 
mend him, not even manners. About the only 
comfort any of us could get out of him was that 
his sight recalled the lady who sold him to us, 
and in that way we coaxed ourselves into the 
belief that we had already got the $25 worth 
out of him. Long before we arrived at Alep- 
po I began to show the strain, and at Alep- 
po, after I had carted him over three thousand 
miles, I left him in a boarding house, while I 
went to the desert alone. 

As I rode out at the head of the caravan in 
search of the Anezeh tribe, I realized that for 
weeks (they would seem years of care and pa- 
tience with a wayward dog) I was to be with- 
out even him, but comforted myself with the 
fact that, as we evidently did not understand 
each other's language, it was best we parted. I 
had named him (the only French word I 
had been able to learn) "Dedong" (Dis 



done!), which translated means "Say!" You 
ought to have heard the Frenchwoman say- 

But we had not ridden far into the desert be- 
fore I missed something. I kept looking down 
and behind me to see if something were not fol- 
lowing me. I could not quite make out at first 
what it was I missed, but I knew that some- 
thing was lacking. 

The red and yellow soil of the desert seemed 
to change into green grass and greener trees 
and I could see the rich New Jersey landscape 
stretch away before me. I was in the desert 
and in Morris Plains at the same time. I grew 
homesick. Hark! Was that a familiar bark 
or just the echo of something I wanted to hear? 
Then I knew that what I missed most was the 
companionship of a dog. I thought at first, 
of course, of the Airedales that wanted to make 
the journey with me and I felt more homesick 
than ever. I longed even for a sight of "De- 
dong." I was sorry that he had been left be- 
hind and that I had ever regarded him with dis- 

Even the excitement of the first night in the 
desert was of little consolation. We had been 
received with great ceremony and all that the 



Anezeh had was ours, but although I had been 
tremendously impressed, it was not until the 
second night that I began to feel really at 
home. On that second night I saw some dogs. 
Our tents were pitched in a beautiful spot, and 
as the Bedouins were walking about gossiping 
of the new arrivals, I noticed how different 
the dogs were from the mangy curs we had 
seen in every village and town from Constanti- 
nople to Aleppo. While almost wild, they 
were large and noble-looking fellows, with big 
heads, and were accustomed to drive flocks and 
herds. They didn't roam promiscuously like 
the dogs of the town. 

I saw at one tent a litter of pups that were 
big and husky. This dog family consisted of 
the father and mother and four children — ^three 
girls and a boy. The boy walked out to see 
us. I stopped and patted him, whereupon he 
fell on his back with his heels up, and was im- 
mensely pleased. 

He looked back at the tent where his family 
was and wondered if they were as happy as he. 
He saw in his home a place where only the 
fittest or the prettiest survived. His father 
was a big powerful fellow in his prime, and he 
would be able to drive the males from a good 



many litters before one would eventually whip 
him. The sisters were pretty, and could stay 
at home, but for this big overgrown puppy 
there was not much of a future with his father. 
He was so big for his age that his father 
snarled at him, and the neighbors' dogs made 
him keep out of their tents. The only kindness 
he got was from his mother. He was well fed, 
but he was waiting for an opportunity. He 
wanted a home of his own. 

I stopped again and he came to me and that 
time we knew each other a little better. He 
was still as bashful as most pups who have 
not shed their first teeth, but as we finally 
parted, I saw him look at me long and hope- 
fully. He seemed to tell me that he was a boy 
with a purpose in life, whose father didn't un- 
derstand him ; that while it was customary for 
a boy to stay at home and work till he was 
twenty-one years old, in his case he would have 
to begin to do something when he was twelve 
or fourteen, owing to the determined nature 
and unkindly ways of his parent. 

That evening after the Bedouins had gone, 
a big white baby head shoved its way through 
the curtain of my tent. The pup was return- 
ing my visit in true Bedouin fashion. He did 



not walk; he crawled with politoiess. After 
a few moments taken up in patting him, we 
went to the cook's tent and got better acquaint- 
ed with the aid of some chicken bones. I left 
him for the night, but heard him barking at the 
camels as they came by about midnight. The 
next morning he was there; his opportunity 
had come and he had taken it. 

He had filled the only vacancy, perhaps, on 
the great Arabian desert from Nejd to Aleppo. 
There was probably not a tent, except mine, 
that was not carefully watched by many dogs. 
His tail was poised in a different way. He 
had actually grown during the night, and he 
had the ways of a full-fledged dog, and 
wouldn't let others come around. He watched 
the saddle, and lying on the saddle blankets, 
with his big brown eyes wide open, he was 
thinking how to manage his empire. All day 
he went from tent to tent, from saddle to horse, 
as if the weight of the whole caravan was on 
his shoulders. 

He was no longer a bashful puppy. He 
growled and barked when his father and 
mother drove a hundred sheep too close to his 
pre-empted home. He wouldn't even let his 
sisters, who were as dainty as girl puppies 



could be, sniff around the tent. They were 
not afraid of him at first, but after he had 
really bitten them, they retreated from his ter- 
ritory and watched him with their heads tipped 
to one side. He sat at our tent pegs, and see- 
ing life seriously was brave enough to tackle it. 
His hour had arrived and he was there with all 
his four feet — and those feet were the only 
things that were holding him back. They 
looked like a composite picture of all the babies' 
feet in the world. They were heavy and cum- 
bersome, but he had not lost faith in them. It 
was strange, but you could actually see him 
grow. We laughed when we saw, an hour aft- 
erwards, that his tail was an inch longer, held 
higher up and showing more independence. 
The last thing that night he was walking 
among the stallions and mares with an impor- 
tant air that nearly threw his shoulder-blades 
out of socket. During the night I heard him 
several times; his growl was coarser and he 
made several tours to see that everything was 
all right. 

At six in the morning he came to me, as 
much as to say: "These donkeys and sheep and 
camels think that, because they have known me 



all my life, they can walk right over our tent 
ropes, but I won't have it." 

He kept up this attitude, getting more and 
more confidence in himself, until we were ready 
to start on our visit to Sheikh Ali. I had 
wanted to take him along, especially when he 
was mouthing over my hands with his sharp 
baby teeth, but his big soft feet and legs looked 
too young to stand such a march, and I gave 
up the notion altogether. But the pup had 
other ideas. We were a half mile or more on 
our way when Ameene called to me to look in 
the shadow of my horse, and there almost under 
my stirrup was the pup, limibering along. His 
tail was rolled up more importantly than ever. 
At last he had a mission. He had seen that 
we were without a guard, so he had cast his lot 
with ours. He recognized that we needed pro- 
tection and he was giving it at the cost of leav- 
ing home and a good mother, and a father who 
was compelled to remain behind by the laws of 
home, to be what he was. I could not keep 
my eyes from him, he was so brave. He was 
now out of sight of the environment that he 
knew and was going to the big desert. At in- 
tervals he sniffed at my stirrup as if traveling 
was new to him. He was a pioneer without 



practice, and he did not propose to get lost. 
He proposed to stick by me. 

I thought of Senator Vest's remarks when 
he appeared in court at St. Louis for a tramp 
whose dog was killed by a neighbor. Vest 
spoke of one's children and how, no matter with 
what tender kindness and care they were 
reared, they would leave home and parents 
often without a farewell. 

But there was one friend of man, said the 
Senator, who never deserted him ; a friend who 
would lick the hand that had no food to offer ; 
a friend who, when death came, when the mas- 
ter had finished his life, when all others had 
returned from the graveyard, would mourn at 
the grave itself — ^his last, his best friend, his 
dog ! I thought of that and then of this puppy, 
a little fellow offering his devotion for my 
friendship and at that moment giving me a 
friendly glance from his eyes. He was like 
Jefferson C. James, who once ran for Mayor in 
San Francisco, and who said in a somewhat 
famous speech: "I seen my duty and I done 
it." James was not elected, but that has noth- 
ing to do with this pup. 

We followed Sheikh Ali and Akmet Haffez 
across the plains for miles. We saw a rab- 



bit; it was the dog's first, and he fell over a 
clod in his initial race. He came back to the 
shadow of the horse, and there ambled along 
in a dignified way. Astride the best horse in 
the desert, and protected by the best puppy in 
the world, I was much elated. We flushed 
some f rancolins, beautiful birds, but he was too 
important to be a bird dog. He was march- 
ing among horses and men and camels. He 
was the only dog in the caravan and at every 
mile he seemed to realize the fact more. He 
was avoiding the camel thistles as best he could, 
but while more francolins went up and his 
attention was on them for a moment he got a 
nasty burr in his big soft foot. He went on 
three legs a while and then showed of what 
stuff he was made. He rolled on his back and 
deliberately gnawed the burr out with his 
teeth without a whimper. He had left mother 
and father for me, and he was to meet emer- 
gencies as they came. 

He was going out where there was a future, 
and no such little thing as a thorn, not even 
a camel thistle, could stop him. I wondered 
if he would be happier if he knew of the glit- 
tering collar I was going to get for him when 



we reached New York, and how proud I knew 
my own dogs would be to meet him. With the 
knowledge he would acquire on a trip to 
the Anezeh, everything seemed to be before 
him. Sheikh Ali had galloped his bay mare 
a mile ahead to the tents of his own tribe, and 
the horsemen came galloping to meet us, carry- 
ing spears that looked thirty feet long. It was 
all excitement and the puppy ran ahead to 
join it. We saw the Sheikh's tent, a big tent 
with lots of men near it. They were killing a 
lamb and wolf -like dogs were jumping aroimd 
it. Before I could dismount, or a man come 
to the rescue with a spear, my volunteer baby 
guard, my puppy, my boy that was leaving 
home at ten and going out into the world to 
make a living, was torn and dead. He didn't 
whine. He had fought as well as he could 
with his puppy teeth, the teeth that had 
scratched my hand in play a few hours before, 
but they had failed him. He had started out 
for himself to be as much of a man as a dog 
can ever be. He had left home that his father 
might rule alone. But he was gone and it was 
all over! The opportimity we thought so 
bright was a blank. The career that had 
started so well had ended quickly. The first 



real fight he had ever made was the only one 
he ever was to make. He died a real hero. 

I felt as if I could have destroyed the dogs 
of the desert for this wanton murder. The 
affection of this puppy was spontaneous and it 
was mine. There was no glittering collar on 
him as he died, but he died as he had traveled 
— ^in the shadow of the horse, before his mas- 
ter's eyes and without turning tail. 





With that dog story off my mind ( I simply 
had to tell it), the narrative of the trip may 
be resumed. We left the Circassian village at 
three in the afternoon and were back at our 
tent at five in the morning. For us the ride 
was tiresome, but the horses were as fresh as 
ever. This wonderful endurance of the 
Anezeh horses, although we expected much, 
was a constant surprise. They never seemed 
to tire and I shall relate soon a remarkable in- 
stance of their strength and stamina. 

The event of importance to which we were 
now looking forward was the meeting with 
Hashem Bey, the Sheikh of Sheikhs of the 
desert. No sooner indeed had we arrived at 
our tents than we were informed that the 
ruler of the Anezeh had returned with a large 
number of his warriors to see us, and so after 


The Supreme Shiekh, Hash em Bey. 


a few hours* rest the meeting came about. 
Haffez walked over, with the Sheikh on his 
arm, and we met just outside of our own tents. 

Hashem Bey was tall and thin, a young man 
of thirty-four, or even younger. He was 
strictly the war type; his eyes were set far 
back under the bones, without being wide 
apart. After we had talked for ten minutes 
and had assured him that it did not seem 
right that the greatest Sheikh in all the Syrian 
desert should have ridden a journey of three 
days to meet us, 5i noticed that there was 
something lacking in him. 

He was not the big man Akmet Haff ez was. 
He did not possess the latter's fine sense of 
humor or, indeed, any sense of humor ; he was 
without that indefinable air that immediately 
suggests gentility and good breeding. He 
was very evidently not particularly pleased to 
meet us and the reason for this soon came out. 
I had called his attention with a great deal 
of pride to the fact that I was riding his brown 
Maneghi Sbeyel stallion, the pride of his en- 
tire people, and a present, by order of him, to 
the Governor of Aleppo, and the latter^s pres- 
ent to me. His lip curled and he made that 
motion of his hands, slapping them past each 



other, common among the Bedouins, which 
meant that the horse was lost to them. 

In all our subsequent intercourse this loss of 
the "Pride of the Desert" seemed uppermost 
in his thoughts and he never allowed us to for- 
get that he was not pleased with the Governor 
of Aleppo. Be- 
fore the first inter- 
view was over I 
realized that we 
were a disappoint- 
m e n t to each 
other, and was 
( secretly glad I had 

^' not ridden three 

' days to see him, as 

glad, I imagine, 
as he was sorry 
-■-«*»2; he had done so, 

The Sheikh of .11 Sheikhs. thoUgh, of COUrSe, 

he was in duty bound to take the ride in 
honor of Akmet Haffez. 

Perhaps, too, my dress had something to do 
with his disappointment. I was looking shop- 
worn, to say the least, and he might have 
thought that I would be dressed hke some of 
the foreign government army officials who 


often came to him to buy horses. We got 
along well, but never easily. 

Finally I took a walk with Akmet Haffez, 
and when we were alone, except for Ameene, 
the interpreter, Haffez asked in a low voice 
how I liked the great Hashem Bey. 

I looked at the old man's face to see if he 
was prepared for an honest answer, and see- 
ing that he wanted my candid opinion, I told 
him I was glad Hashem Bey had ridden three 
days instead of us. The old man rolled with 
quiet laughter, and taking hold of my arm a 
little tighter, said: "I am glad to see you are a 
judge of human nature as well as of horses. 
While he's the Sheikh of all, there are thou- 
sands of men in his own tribe that are far bet- 
ter than he, as men. He is angry, as you know, 
because the Governor of Aleppo gave you the 
Maneghi, but let me tell you something more : 
he has already expressed an unwillingness to 
put his seal on the horse's pedigree. But," 
and the old man's eyes flashed, "I will force him 
to do it or else make him appear ridiculous be- 
fore Allah and his own tribes." 

Hashem Bey seemed to be more interested 
in our rifles and guns than anything else. I 
presented him with my rifle (a special "Sav- 


PedlfiTee o( Haleb, the brown Maeghl Sbeyl, the (ayorlte atalllon o( 
the desert of 1900. This pedigree bears the seals of Sheikh AH Rashld, 
Achmet HaSez Had Hatcbem Bey. It Is a pedigree that would be bowed to 
from Neja to Aleppo. 

<8]lMd) ABHilP 1 


age") and with all the cartridges I had with 
me, and he took them not so much as a present 
as an addition to his supply of guns. Of 
course we discussed horses with him at great 
length, and, as the highest authority in the 
world on Arab horses, he cleared away -many 
doubtful points relative to the breed. I had 
my Arab horse books along with me, including 
the last volume of Roger D. Upton, •in which 
he mentions all the f amiliescand sub-families of 
the Arab horse. These were carefully exam- 
ined by the Sheikh, and those which were con- 
sidered "Chubby" by the Anezeh were marked 
thus. He said the Abeyeh Sherrakieh mare, 
which Arthur Moore had just ridden back from 
Aleppo, had the rarest head there was in the 
desert, and she, herself, was one of the most 
valuable of mares. 

Moore had come to the desert an entire skep- 
tic on the subject of Arab horse. He had 
heard in America so much talk about the Arab 
by ignorant people and had failed to find any 
proof of their stories, that he was an entire dis- 
believer. He went to the desert convinced 
that our Cayuse horses could outrun, outlast, 
outwork and outdo the Arab in everything ex^ 
cept looks. 



But on the way back from Aleppo he was en- 
tirely converted and became an enthusiast. 
As I mentioned above, he was riding the 
Abeyeh mare and determined to put his to the 
test. It was a foolish thing to do, for the heat 
was terrific and the mare had a bad cough and 
cold. At home she would have been in the 

An old warrior o( the Anexeh. 

care of a veterinary. Moore, with his rifle and 
ammunition and $4,000 in gold, which he was 
carrying, weighed 300 pounds. Nevertheless 
he galloped her thirty-five miles in four hours 
and a half, carrying all the weight. He did 


not follow any beaten roadway, but took her 
over the rocks of the desert in a bee-line. The 
further she went, he said, the stronger she 
seemed to get, and the better she seemed to 
move. At the end her cough did not seem to 
be worse, and when Moore was on her she 
didn't seem to be tired. She showed some of 
the effects of the test when she was standing 
still by continually resting. Moore wanted the 
Arab horse to show him something, and he got 
it without getting it second-hand. From that 
time on he stood up for the Arab horse. 

What made this trial of the mare the more 
wonderful was that while she was considered 
among the Anezeh as their greatest race mare, 
she had probably never before had on her back 
more than 150 to 160 pounds. While Moore 
was riding her the first evening we left Aleppo, 
Akmet Haffez had outrun everybody in the 
party with his Hamdenieh Simrieh filly, until 
he came to race the Abeyeh mare. Then, to 
the utter astonishment of evervbodv, this small 
mare, carrying the handicap, easily outfooted 
Haffez's horse in a half mile run. 

Among the horses we purchased at this time 
was a bay Seglawieh Jedranieh mare, owned by 
an old Bedouin, who wore a most tattered 



Keffeyeh or headdress and whose face was one 
of the most expressionless I had ever seen. 
She sat low to the ground, but was very power- 
ful and broad; her head, though not like the 

Wbea I offered this expreBslonleas old horsemBD a hundred 
and Dtty pounds (Freocb) (or his Seglawieli-Jedraaieb mare, 
with a «runt of dlssuat he mouoted and rode avay. 

Abeyeh Sherrakieh's, was an expressive one. 
The fact of her being a Seglawieh Jedranieh 
made her of unusual interest and more than a 
thousand Bedouins gathered round to see her. 
She was a beast of evidently unusual power. 

Akmet Haffez asked me quietly if I wanted 

her, and I said I did. He advised me not to 



pay over one hundred and twenty-five Turkish 
pounds, but at my suggestion he offered one 
hundred and fifty, and the mare was led away 
by the old expressionless man, with a sneer on 
bis face. She was taken away and hobbled 
near some other horses, and her owner came in 
under the big tent where he joined the circle 
of others who were smoking, always preserv- 
ing the same cold countenance. 

His face was so remarkable, and his eyes so 
void of any emotion, that I inquired of him if 
he would object to my drawing his picture. 
The expression of his face never changed; he 
just gave his hand an upward toss, and a 
grunt, which meant "No." 

We were shown other horses of the Anezeh, 
and bought a white mare, a Maneghieh Sbeyel, 
standing over fifteen hands high, which was to 
foal within ninety days from that time. Her 
eyes were large and very black with brilliant 
high lights, but at the same time with a soft 
kind look. 

Arthur Moore, who had missed his present 
in Aleppo by leaving us at a critical moment, 
was presented with a five-year-old stallion, a 
Maneghi Hedruj. In the afternoon we had 
the big camel feast. 



We spent several days with the Anezeh and 
the faces I had admired so much at first had 
begun to wear on me. After all, these desert 
Bedouins were, first and last, warriors, and the 
constant fighting expression in their faces was 
becoming monotonous. The idleness in which 
they lived, with no purpose in life other than 
to sit around till some raid was started, was 
wearing on me. 

We had enjoyed our stay; we had feasted on 
a camel (they said it was a young one) ; we 
had talked horse pedigrees with the Anezeh 
for days without interruption ; we had seen the 
greatest animals they had, and now owned 
some of them; we had bought nearly all the 
horses that my Irade would permit to be ex- 
ported; time was flying and we were a long 
way from New York. It seemed when I 
looked at the map as if we never would be 
able to get there. Next day was set for our 
departure, and after one of the most enjoy- 
able nights of our visit, passed in listening to 
horse stories and desert legends, we retired 
about eleven o'clock, and were up by daylight 
getting the luggage ready to start. The fare- 
well feast was over, our tents were coming 



down and our stallions and mares were being 
led off. 

My dear old Bedouin brother, Haffez, knew 
that I liked the farmer Bedouin best, but he 
came to me, resting his weight on my shoulder 
as he leaned on me and holding Ameene by 
the other hand. He had one request. He 
asked that when I bade Hashem Bey good-bye, 
I should wish him success in his wars. That, 
of course, was perfectly reasonable, and we 
both hoped that it would soothe Hashem, for 
he was still cross about the "Pride of the 

And the time had nearly arrived to start; 
the last coffee time was being played and the 
Maneghi Sbeyel stallion was saddled, waiting. 
Hundreds of Anezeh horsemen were bidding 
him good-bye, and tying blue beads in his mane 
and tail, to keep off the evil eye. Akmet Haf- 
fez gave me the signal and we all arose. 
Hashem Bey knew, of course, that we were 
leaving. He walked out from under the tent 
where the seal-brown stallion stood fretting to 
join the other horses. I took the Sheikh by 
the hand, and told him, through the interpreter, 
that I hoped he would live a long and happy 
life, and that when he had to die he would die 



on horseback in the heat of war. He raised 
the back of my hand to his forehead, and we 
parted. He gave the Maneghi a good-bye. 
Sheikh Ali, of the Abu Gomuese, walked by 
my horse, holding hands for a few yards, to 
assure me that they had all enjoyed the visit, 
and we were off. 

'Halcb-a' head. 

At Chicago in 1893, the World's Fair Arab 
horses were imable to stand up in their Bedouin 
shoes on the slick polished dirt, and the Arabs, 
shortly after their arrival, changed to the 
American horseshoe. I saw the small horse, 
the subject of the following letter, have 
both his forward tendons practically cut off by 
overreaching. Notwithstanding that, about 


ten years later, with a drunken groom, he ran 
away about twenty miles. Before he was sold 
to Mr. Shoemaker (the present owner), he 
was "let down" in his hind pasterns. 

In view of this I think Mr. Shoemaker's 
statement most remarkable. It shows a per- 
formance greater even than Moore's in the des- 
ert, or that of General Colby's riding in Ne- 
braska on the Grant stallions. 

Mr. Shoemaker writes as follows : 

"I purchased the Arab stallion *Koubishan,' 
which I have since re-christened 'Nasir Khos- 
ran,' of Mr. Davenport, on April 1st, 1906. 
He is a horse perhaps 19 years old, 14.2 hands 
high, of a peculiar color. I rode him daily in 
Central Park last spring, and early in June 
shipped him to my country home at McElhat- 
tan, Penn., which is situated in the wildest 
and most mountainous part of that state, 
hundred miles through the mountains, never 
going less than thirty miles in a day. We did 
not go continuously, however, as I frequently 
rested at attractive spots to enjoy the country, 
but never stayed more than a day in one place. 

"During the balance of the summer I rode 
him from time to time, but while I was absent 

[ 164 ] 

-^---•1 ^ . i j-tO, ' « ~ i*-^. .••n 


in New York he was never exercised. De- 
spite this, he was just as fresh and sturdy as if 
in constant use. Early in October he was ex- 
ercised by my hired boy, and towards the mid- 
dle of that month I started on another tour 
with him. We traveled along Pine Creek to 
Morris Run, Penn., by easy stages, and on 
October 14th started back. The day was fine 
for what proved to be a memorable ride of 
seventy miles. The temperature registered at 
thirty, the sky was clear and the ground cov- 
ered with frost. 'Nasif Khosran' or 'Koubi- 
shan,' carried, including saddle and myself, two 
hundred and ten pounds. I was accompanied 
by my cousin, Mr. James W. Quiggle, second, 
and my friend, Mr. G. Scott Smith, who rode 
tough western ponies. We left Morris Rxm 
at seven o'clock in the morning and arrived at 
McElhattan at seven o'clock in the evening, 
resting two hours at mid-day in English Cen- 
ter. We kept up a stiff pace, averaging seven 
miles an hour for the entire seventy miles, 
which resulted in the western ponies playing 
out after thirty-five miles, but the Arab, carry- 
ing his heavy load, finished the trip alone in 
first-class condition, although the roads were 
all up and down hill, and the next morning he 



was as fresh as ever, and did not even lose his 
appetite. That, I think, is a pretty good test 
for the Arab horse, and proves him to be 
adapted to the most exacting work in the 
roughest eomitry, for it is ahnost impossible to 
have imagined what he would have done if he 
had been a much younger horse. He is to-day 
in superb condition, and during Christmas hol- 
idays I drove him in a sleigh, where he showed 
great speed." 




Hashem Bey was left behind, and though 
our faces were once more turned toward the 
west we were still in the desert and were 
to have more adventures and to witness mope 
shrewd oriental bargaining on the part of 
Akmet Haffez. After leaving the main body 
of the Anezeh we rode for five hours and 
camped near a spring which bubbled up from 
under the hot rocks. 

We were waked in the morning by the 
neighing of the horses we had purchased and 
found we had been aroused by the approach 
of a Bedouin riding a bay mare and leading a 
two-year-old colt. 

The latter, it seemed, was the Seglawi Jed- 
ran colt, which the Anezeh had promised to 
send to me for inspection. Before we could 

[ 167 ] 


leave the tent Haflfez sent word to us to stay 
in our tents as long as possible. This Se- 
glawieh Jedranieh mare, he said, was the finest 
possessed by the Anezeh. She had been 
brought, not to be sold herself, but to show 
what her colt was worth. He would buy the 
colt as cheaply as possible and then, later, 
would refer in an off-hand and indifferent way 

Curious vtsltora much astonished at watcblng me sketch. 

to the mother. Through the flap of the tent 
we admired the pair. Mother and son were as 
much alike, in general character, as two peas. 
There were the same markings on tbeir white 







legs, the same general character of hind qnar- 
ters, and the same Teiy ^racy'^ appearance 

We dressed and walked to where the two 
were standing on a plot of grass about 
twoity feet square. There was mudi delay in 
getting the colt. Haff ez, the wisest old horse- 
trader of the desert, thought it was not best 
to buy him too quickly. He and the Bedouin 
had agreed closely enough to a price to make 
the final arrangement an easy matter; still he 
thought it would be policy not to hurry the 
deal. He wanted to wait; not that it would 
make any difference in the eventual price of 
the colt, but it would make it easier to buy an- 
other colt, a yearling and a f uU brother of the 
one in question. jSIoreover, in case we wanted 
to bargain for the mare, the effect of an hour's 
delay might mean something notable in the 
matter of price. 

After all there is a fascination about this 
oriental bargaining. Arabs will never set a 
price on their horse. Unless your price suits 
him he will lead his horse away, nor will the 
desert Bedouin under any condition tell a lie 
about his horse's breeding. 

After breakfast the Bedouin was brought 



to me, his hand was placed in mine, while the 
Arabs jabbered and I knew that the colt had 
finally been purchased. The Bedouin even 
promised that he would go to his tent and bring 
the yearling brother of the colt, a chestnut with 
the same markings, and join us where we were 
to camp that night, five hours on towards 

As we departed the mare was a picture. 
She walked with the grace of a well-bred 
woman; her tail would gracefully sway from 
side to side ; her ears were ever in motion, and 
her eyes sparkled. The very sight of her rest- 
ed us from the long day's ride of the day 
before and then she broke into a gallop and her 
swinging tassels were soon lost sight of as she 
disappeared on the horizon. 

The mother out of sight, we turned to look 
at her two-year-old son. He seemed finer than 
others we had of the same age. There was an 
inherited dignity which the rest did not have. 
We were already anxious to see his full brother 
which was supposed to be better still. Both 
of them were sired by the great Hamdani- 
Simri chestnut horse that the Anezeh are so 
proud of and thus combined the two rare breeds 
of the desert, the Seglawi Jedran and the 



Hamdani Simri. The mother was a Se- 
glawieh, and thus according to desert rule the 
colts were of blood of the Seglawi Jedrans. 

That night we camped at a village owned by 
relatives of Akmet Haffez. At ten o'clock the 
Bedouin returned with his beautiful mare, 
bringing her baby and last child, a chestnut 
colt, big for his age, with white in the face, and 
with the same peculiar white feet as his mother 
and brother. His mane and tail were light 
yellow, giving him a babyish appearance. He 
was even finer than the two-year-old. 

Again I was driven away by Haffez (who 
wanted to drive a close bargain) lest I might 
show how much I wanted the mare for which 
he soon wanted to make an offer. I went into 
the tent, but was very restless. I could tell 
there was some friction. Finally I saw the 
Bedouin mount the mare and start off with 
the yearling by his side ; and, after hearing that 
Haffez had let the bargain fall through be- 
cause of a difference of four pounds ($16.00) , 
I got him to reconsider. A man with stout 
lungs brought the Bedouin back and again his 
hand was put in mine, and the yearling was 
bought. And now for the first time I thought 
we were to make an offer for the mare, but 







'Hiaffez, it seemed^ had tried to drive a bar- 
gain for both the mare and colt, and had fafled. 
The colt was taken to his brotiier and tied to 
the hind leg* He stood like a little man and 
his brother was glad to see Imn. The mare's 
only other colt had been bought the year before 
by the German government for two hundred 
and fifty pounds* Thus she was a source of 
revenue which they did not want to lose. 

Before her owner mounted the beautiful 
mother to ride away, I approached her, and, 
true to the Bedouin custom, she refused to let 
me come near. She bit at me and pretended 
to kick, and all this while ragged Bedouins were 
patting her, and patting her; but me she 
watched like a hawk. 

All our attempts to buy her proved unavail- 
ing. He put us off by saying that he would 
have to consult his family. He promised 
faithfully to come to us again the next night, 
but he did not and so the story of the event- 
ual })urchase of the mare is the more remark- 
able and must be put down in its proper place. 





The route of the next day's journey took us 
more to the south, and as we passed an en- 
campment of the Sebaa Anezeh, a brown mare, , 
with a filly colt not more than fifteen days old 
at her side, was shown to us. Haff ez was es- 
pecially anxious that I should see this filly, as 
it was sired by the horse I was riding (the 
Maneghi Sbeyel), and was his double over 
again, without a white hair and with the same 
peculiar head. She was a dainty little thing 
as she played round her mother, but I was 
afraid she could not stand the long ride to 
Alexandretta. Haffez, however, thought oth- 
erwise, so I finally bought the mare and 
filly. They were of the family of Hadban 
Enzekhi, the first we had seen in the desert, 
and I was glad of the opportunity to buy them 
as it completed the purchase of representatives 



of all of the members of the Khamseh, or five 
great families. The mother was a most showy 
animal, with remarkable shoulders and hips, 
and the most graceful neck and tail carriage. 
As the Bedouin owner galloped her here and 
there over the rocks to show her off, she was a 
beautiful sight. It seemed the Bedouin 
wanted to sell the mother and not the filly 
colt, but Haffez knew what he was after, and 
bought the two at what he considered was a 
price for the mare alone. Her former owner 
followed us to Aleppo and then offered us six- 
ty-five pounds Turkish for the colt, which was 
then twenty days old. But I kept it. 

It will be remembered that the owner of the 
distinguished mare we wished so much to pur- 
chase had said he would join us that night, and 
all night the lonesome colt had been calling for 
his mother. He clung to his brother, but 
would call to every passing horse or camel. 
When we moved towards Aleppo, however, he 
strode alongside of his brother, and had for- 
gotten all about his mother before we stopped 
for the night. All night we waited for the 
Bedouin and mare, but they did not come. 
The next day a courier came with a message 
that we might have her for fifty pounds more 



than we had offered, and though it seemed use- 
less, we sent a messenger, and a soldier, with 
the money to bring her to Aleppo. 

On our return to Aleppo we were the sub- 
jects of great curiosity. All of the distin- 
guished Arabs and Turks came to see our 
horses, and they were much admired. 

The Governor's son, Hickmet Bey, had been 
presented by the Gomussa tribe wdth another 
Maneghi Sbeyel, to take the place of the one 
which they had given to me. We went to see 
him. He was two years old, imshod, and stood 
a fraction over fifteen hands high. He was 
the most powerfully made horse, I think, it 
has ever been my pleasure to see. His re- 
markable hips and shoulders were a sight. 
There was not a flaw in him. The Bedouins, 
when they came near him, all bowed. They 
thought he was a special creation of God, be- 
cause he had three black feet, the only white 
being on the left fore foot, which is a special 
mark of Allah. He had a small star on the 
forehead, the strip growing wider as it came 
to the nose, so that it took in one nostril 
which was completely white. The white ran 
to the under-lip, and this was tattooed in blue 
in imitation of the women of the desert. One 









of his eye-balls was white. In this country such 
a thing would be disliked in a horse, but in the 
desert it is commonly found. 

Every time I looked at Akmet Haffez he 
closed his fist and held it up to his head, to 
show what a remarkable colt this was. To 
cap the climax the Governor's son told me that 
as he had not yet made me a present he would 
give me this colt. With all the thanks that 
I could scrape up I took him, and he was hur- 
riedly led away to join the rest of the horses 
which were picketed at the Maidan, just out of 

While at the Governor's we met Hassan 
Tasshin Pasha, the wealthiest citizen in Alep- 
po, though an exile. The Pasha was one of 
the most distinguished-looking men I had ever 
seen. He was as cheerful as an exile could 
be, and lived in the best house in Aleppo. In- 
stead of pining over his fate he had taken to 
breeding Arab horses, and he was a stickler for 
fine blood and an expert with pedigrees. He 
believed that there were very few Seglawi Jed- 
rans left in the north of the desert, and that the 
Hamdani Simri were confined almost to the 
Shammar. We eagerly accepted an opportu- 
nity to see his horses. 

[ 180 ] 

Hassan Tahseln Pasha, exiled in Aleppo. This distiaguished 
general was one of Che highest men under the otd Sultan of 
Turkey. His popularity with the people throughout Turkey, 
Dotwlthatandios that he was one ot the rlehOBt men in tbe 
Empire, alarmed the Sultan until through fear ot the Paeba's 
popularity be trapped him into exile by asking hlni to go to 
Aleppo to be the governor of Syria. On bis arrival when the 
troops met bim as he thought as an ovatioD. he was intornied 
that Instead he was an exile lor life. Whether the new TurU 
movement releaaea this wan with many other notable men 
from exile liCa at this writing I am unable to tell. I naturally 
suppose It doeB, however. 


The first mare that was led into view was a 
flea-bitten, tall and well-made gray mare, 
standing more than fifteen hands high. She 
was a Kehileh Heife, a breed much prized, as 
we had found out from the Anezeh, and play- 
ing at her side was a baby horse colt, foaled 
in June of that year. The colt was fat and 
husky and was chasing dogs. At a distance he 
looked like a Clydesdale, without the hair on 
his legs, and much resembled Reysdack's 

The Pasha was pleased at our admiration of 
his horses, especially as he had been apologiz- 
ing for them. Indeed they were as fine as any- 
thing we had seen in the desert, especially a 
three-year-old Kehilan Heife stallion, stand- 
ing fifteen hands, without a white hair on him 
a dark gray Dahman Shahwan, two years old 
a three-year-old chestnut stallion, a Segla^vi 
Jedran, brought specially for the Pasha from 
Nejd, and a chestnut filly two-year-old Kahileh 
Heife, daughter of the flea-bitten gray mare. 

We saw Akmet Haffez in conversation with 
the Pasha, and soon the latter began to talk 
with much emphasis. It seemed that Haffez 
was trying to compel the Pasha to sell us the 
three-year-old bay stallion and that the Pasha 



had felt embarrassed at being considered a 
horse-dealer. But Haffez insisted and finally 

The next morning we went again to see the 
Pasha's horses, and immediately he and Haffez 
were at it again, Haff ez's price bothered our 
host, and the latter made the declaration that 
he would not sell them at any price, but if I 
wanted to accept them as gifts I could, I was 
afraid Haffez would destroy our friendship 
with the Pasha, but he seemed to know what 
he was about and finally compelled the sale of 
the three horses at prices which he thought were 
honest. So, amid much excitement, the gray 
mare and her colt, and the three-year-old, were 
picketed with our lot. 

And we parted the best of friends. The 
next day he called on us at the hotel with the 
Governor. This in itself was an unusual pro- 
ceeding and the proprietor of the hotel was 
much excited over it. It was with much re- 
gret that we said good-bye, and as they drove 
away in a carriage drawn by two gray Arabian 
stallions, we felt very proud to think of having 
such friends in even s^ch an out-of-the-way 




That night brought the beginning of our 
farewell to the desert, for we were to part with 
Akmet Haff ez and for the last time to break 
bread under his hospitable roof. Crowds had 
gathered around his house. Strange Bedouins 
whom we had never seen, were there to say 
good-bye in their solemn cordial way, but the 
old man was all smiles (for us), as he per- 
sonally superintended the spreading of the 
boimteous feast. 

And so we too feigned light-heartedness, in 
spite of an imdertone of sadness. We would 
eat his food — and then leave a friend, one of 
the best we had ever met. Few men in anv 
coimtry would have gone out of their way 
so far as to have done for us what this diplo- 



matic, far-seeing old Bedouin had done. The 
Governor of Aleppo had told us that Haffez 
was looked upon as the smartest and shrewdest 
Bedouin that the Ottoman Empire had ever 
known. But we knew more of him. With his 
jocular humor and sarcasm and his true gen- 

study of MuaoQ— Btlll, listeDlng. 
tlemanly manners, he made us feel as if we 
were leaving home and going abroad to some 
strange land. 

At this final meeting he was just what he 
had ever been. His speech was always full of 
flamboyant oriental exaggeration, but it was 
different from that of bis kind — you knew that 
he meant what be said. The Arabs have a 
word "Halamy," which being much of a slang 
term, can best be transferred into English (or 
rather American) as "hot air." The Arab 
showers on you all sorts of fine phrases and 


you accept them with a grin and say to your- 
self "Halamy," and letting it go at that, im- 
mediately forget it. 

But with Akmet Haffez it was different. 
After you had once gained his friendship you 
knew that what he said was never "Halamv." 
At that last feast (shall we ever forget it?) we 
sat for a long time and, as we ate, joked of the 
trials we had had in the desert, laughed at 
the thought of getting a real Turkish bath 
when we reached the coast, and wondered 
whether we could stand the sensation. Then 
as the end drew near our mood changed, and 
Akmet Haffez began what in any other 
Bedouin would have been "Halamy." 

He gave thanks to Allah that we had come to 
him and that he had been spared to see us. 
Our going, he declared, was the great sorrow 
of his life, but he had this one great consola- 
tion: We had learned to eat rice with our 
hands with the Anezeh and we ought to stay 
and be real Bedouins. By the brightness of 
our eyes ( so he said with a kindly twinkling of 
his own) we had won the tribes, and their 
friendship would always be ours. So almost in 
silence we finished the meal, and went to the 
street below to say good-bye. Rare and beau- 



tif ul presents had been bestowed on us, and dis- 
tinguished people came and were presented, 
and when we walked down to the carriage there 
was a procession. 

As I turned to say good-bye, I thought 
I saw in his motions that Akmet Haffez 
wanted more than a hand-shaking. So though 
awkwardly, I admit, I presented both cheeks 
and was seized in fond embrace by the old 
Bedouin, who broke down and began to sob 
almost aloud. He called to the interpreter to 
come closer, and taking him by one arm asked 
him to tell me that now indeed he had a brother 
in America, and that if I did not return soon 
he would in a few years come to make me a 
visit, to see if I had preserved the blood that I 
was taking away in his horses. Turning then 
to Moore and Thompson, the old gentleman 
with dignity, though weeping, bade them good- 
bye, while crowds of Bedouins stood close to 
the carriage. His stalwart son, Ali, also came 
and then we were driven away to the 
Maidan on the outskirts of the town, where, on 
a grass plot, our horses and mares were picket- 
ed ready for the march. 

Yet we were loth to start, and there was an- 
other reason for this beside our unwillingness 



to part from Akmet Haffez. The Seglawieh 
Jedranieh mare, whose two sons we had bought 
and to complete whose purchase we had sent by 
a soldier the fifty pounds extra demanded by 
her owner, had not appeared. All through the 
dinner Akmet Haffez had been noticeably con- 
cerned over his non-appearance. At first he 
smiled and said that the heat might have de- 
layed his coming, or that some accident might 
have happened. But as the time went on he 
became more serious. We were compelled to 
leave that night in order to catch the steamer at 
Alexandretta four days later and we had our 
large string of horses to convey 106 miles. 

As the servants were serving coffee the sol- 
dier came in out of breath and he had not 
said many words before Akmet Haffez^s eyes 
blazed with anger and he arose and picked up 
a rifle from the couch. What was the trouble? 
This simply: The mare's owner had counted 
out the fifty poimds brought by the soldier and 
then had demanded further a revolver he had 
seen one of our party carrying. 

That was what had roused our host. He 
had given his word before Allah that we should 
have the mare and he would keep his word if it 
took rifles to help him do it. 



And the old man had his way. "I will send 
to get the mare," said he. "My own son Faiot, 
who is also your son, shall go and he shall bring 
her back alive or her owner dead." I yielded, 
not without hesitation, for I wanted the ani- 
mal, as she was the best in the Euphrates val- 
ley, and, anyway, to ease my conscience I sent 
along the revolver which her owner had de- 
manded. Faiot and the soldier started at once 
on their fifteen hours' ride as we broke camp in 
the opposite direction. They would try to 
catch us on the second night. 

It was nearly two o'clock before we were 
ready to march. The young stallions had 
rested from their trip from the desert. The 
barley and the regular feed which they were 
getting was beginning to tell on their condi- 
tion and it was with difficulty that the man led 
some of the two-year-olds, so frisky were they 
and so full of play. 

We rode all night and until the sun was hot 
and at eight o'clock in the morning stopped at 
Kafar-al-Teen, the spot named after the 
famous bandit of that name. All-night travel 
is not best for man or beast. The horses were 
tired and sleepy and, worse still, Moore was 
sick and not improving. The heat of the day 



affected us more than if we had not been travel- 
ing the previous night, so I planned a new pro- 
gramme. We would start that evening at six 
and ride three hours, then rest during the com- 
paratively cool night so that the little colts 
might sleep. 

The men of the caravan objected to this and 
threatened to leave us, but I insisted, and so, 
backed up by Thompson and Moore (even 
though the latter was sick, he looked to them 
big enough to lick a dozen Arabs), they 
stayed. That plan saved us. We camped at 
nine-thirty and at ten the young horses were all 
asleep, and when we started at three in the 
morning, some of the two-year-olds were hard 
to hold. We rode from three to seven, and 
then stopped until evening. 

At sundown Moore was getting steadily 
worse. I was watching the pious Bedouins 
performing their evening devotions with their 
faces towards the east when I turned to look 
at the sunset. It occurred to me, seeing 
Moore's condition, that the west was the place 
for us to pray towards and said so to Moore. 
He was so sick he could hardly hold up his 
head, but he managed to lift himself a little 
and said that if we could manage to hurry him 



toward the west, a little nearer Broadway, he 
would feel better. And we tried. We got 
him on his horse somehow and started on again. 

One of the horses, a golden bay from the 
private stables of Hassan Pasha, was sick, too, 
but that was nothing. A local veterinary in- 
deed offered to cure both Moore and the horse 
with one prescription, which he declared was in- 
fallible. He said that if the sick man should 
lead the sick horse past the graveyard both 
would immediately recover. He guaranteed 
the cure before Allah. We declined with 
thanks. Besides, there wasn't any graveyard. 

It was now the third night out from Aleppo 
and there was no news from the mare. Sud- 
denly about nine in the evening there was a 
cry of "Faiot," and the son of Akmet Haffez 
came galloping up on "The Pride of the Eu- 
phrates." She was the same beautiful ani- 
mal despite her journey. Her eyes had 
the same sparkle and she looked better than 
when we first saw her. Some of the grooms 
were watering the horses at a nearby 
stream, and her colts were away from the camp 
ground at the creek. But while she was still 
resenting our approach, the chestnut orphan 
colt came in on the run. He was all excite- 



ment; his eyes glistened and his ears nearly 
touched each other at the points as he ran from 
one horse to the other. His excitement was 
so great that we shall never forget it. It 
seemed as if such an unexpected meeting had 
never taken place before. Those who may 
think that dumb animals have no way of ex- 
pressing their feelings, should have been pres- 
ent at this twilight celebration. The colt fair- 
ly kissed his mother and his joy knew no 
bounds. He tried to be her baby again and 
suck, forgetting that he had long been weaned. 
He kicked up his heels and cantered about, 
stopping to lick her all over. Then, with a 
squeal, he started, with his little tail high up, 
to run and run round her. He almost stam- 
peded some camels with his antics. He ran 
so close to the other horses we were afraid he 
would trip on their hobbles. He forgot he was 
tired and leg-weary, forgot his baby feet 
had no shoes. Fifty Arabs and grooms, and 
we three, were half laughing and crying to- 
gether to see the boy celebrate his joy. All 
this time his mother acted bashfully as if she 
were saying: "Don't mind him; he's just my 
boy." The grooms tried, when he was tired 
out, to fasten him near his brother, but no hob- 



bles would have held him. He wanted to sleep 
by his mother. He was not content imtil he 

The interpreter then had a story to tell. 
While the colt was celebrating the reunion, his 
once owner was not so happy in Aleppo. 
When the son of Haffez went to him with the 
revolver the owner found fault with the 
weapon, saying it was not the one he wanted. 
He was so sore that before he would give up 
the mare he declared he would leave the 
Anezeh tribe and go to Brihem Pasha, who, to 
get the blood of his mare in his tribe, would de- 
fend him with his six thousand armed men. 
Whereupon the soldiers covered him with the 
very pistol he had sent for, while Haffez's son, 
Faiot, took the mare by force. Later he was ar- 
rested and brought to Aleppo because he had 
broken his word about a horse which he really 
did not want to sell. But if we had achieved one 
horse we wanted we had lost another. The 
golden bay had died while the celebration of 
the colt was going on, and before the last tent 
wagon left the spot the jackals were barking 
on the mountains nearby. 

The next day at Alexandretta, the Arabs 
from the mountains knew all about the bay 



This ratlipr remarkable photograph, remarkable owing to 
the history surrounding it, was taken in UrFab by an English 
traveler. The Pasha at that time was the Governor ot that 
FrovlQee, but on being recalled by the Sultan, he and his 
soldiers turned outlaws and Sei to the Desert with their arms 
and ammunition wltb the hope at the death ol the Sultan to be 
able to defeat the Anezeh. On hearing that this photograph 
had been taken ot him — the only one ever taken of him— <he 
Pasha sent an officer to kill the possessor of the picture and 
destroy it. The man was killed and the photograph torn In two 
and thrown in the street, the officer fleeing to the Desert to 
avoid arrest. The reproditction here shows where it was torn 
and mended. Brihem Pasha did not live to fulHll his prophe- 
cies, as he was assassinated a little ovc^ a year ago by agents 
Of the Anezeh. 


mare, though we had not told the story to a 
soul. They came to see her in great numbers, 
and were sorry she had been taken away from 
her owner. 

That night two New Yorkers sat beside her 
and played pinochle till daylight, and when she 
was safe on board the steamer, I felt the relief 
that only her presence on the steamship could 




How that pinochle game came out I do not 
remember. Maybe I won, but whether I did 
or not, my mind was more set on evincing the 
game of horse — that is of getting my purchases 
safely out of the country. 

When you're at home sitting on the shady 
side of your porch and planning the exporta- 
tion of Arab horses, there are some details 
which you overlook while seated in a comfort- 
able rocking chair. Generally, when you are 
reading of the exportations which have been 
made into England, you read something like 

"We brought from Damascus, or Aleppo, a 
bay mare." Then follows a description of how 
this particular mare enjoyed the grass in the 



paddocks in England. So I had been care- 
less and even ignorant of some of the things I 
afterward learned must have happened be- 
tween the time that horse was purchased in the 
desert and when you again hear of it in the 
English paddocks. 

Before getting to Alexandretta, I had or- 
dered, by wire, from Mr. Jackson, the Amer- 
ican Consul there, lumber to build stalls on the 
boat ; and had given little thought as to how the 
horses were to be loaded on the ship. Until 
I reached that part I had no idea how diffi- 
cult that would be. If Mr. Jackson had not 
gone ahead with the work, and had not had 
boxes constructed for me, I could not have 
shipped my lot of horses for at least two 
weeks. He had made contracts at the lowest 
bids and every carpenter in the town, who was 
well enough to work, was working day and 
night on the boxes. Mr. Jackson was con- 
stantly after the carpenters and the work was 
done on time. 

If you have never put twenty-seven stallions 
and mares into the first boxes, or stalls, they 
have ever seen, then there's something in life 
which you have yet to experience. The day on 
which the embarkation began was very hot. 



The poisonous mosquitoes were dipping under 
your hat-brim like bees. On the dock you were 
conscious that there was a spy, who was there 
smiling at you and to you and anxious to hold 
his umbrella over your head. You allowed 
him to do this, but at the same time you knew 
that he was watching to see if he could not find 
some way to stop you legally. You also knew 
that in the little town, possibly between the 
wharf and the place where your horses were 
tied by the legs, were men who would like to 
steal some of the .choicest ones, especially the 
Seglawieh Jedranieh mare, or the Maneghi 
Sbeyel stallion. If those men once got on the 
back of any of these horses nothing could catch 
them. It would be a short run of an hour into 
the mountains and then — the desert, where 
evprything is lost. A fortune you knew was 
waiting for the man who could get away with 
the brown stallion. 

These trifling details had never been in my 
mind when I was at home rocking in the shade, 
desert-dreaming, but they were forced on me 
now with other little things. Nevertheless the 
shady porch in Morris Plains at the other end 
of the journey was on my mind as well as th^ 
thought that I was determined to win out. 



At the last minute, tiiougfa the good healtli of 
the horses had been testified to by a veterinaiy, 
other yeterinaries stood waiting to be tipped 
and bribed, lest they should get into trouble 
with the Turkish spy, who was anxious to have 
his name go before the Sultan. All this time 
the heat was getting more intense. 

It was ten o'clock and we'd been up since be- 
fore daylight tnring to hurry thmgs along. 
Barley was being shipped aboard, seven thou- 
sand pounds of it, as well as hay, or stuff which 
they call hay. The first horses were being 
brought to the boat, and to try and get some 
relief from an upset mind, I asked them as a 
favor to bring the Manegfai Sbeyel stallion 
along first. He had never seen a box-stall 
and had never been asked to walk into one 
before, but I thought that with his broad fore- 
head he would know more than some of the 
other colts. The Maneghi approached the 
box. With five hundred curious town Arabs 
looking on, he stopped for a moment to gaze 
at it, and then at the first asking he walked 
in with a majestic swing that characterized all 
his motions. The door was closed behind him 
and fastened by an iron bar. 

It was I, I think, who suggested that a 



bandage be tied over his eyes before they low- 
ered him into the lighter, but when we covered 
his big black eyes he began to get nervous, and 
at the first move of the box he nearly got out 
of it. When he made one real effort, the box 
that had looked so stout, bound as it was with 
iron, seemed as frail as a chicken coop, and 
we wondered if it would ever hold together till 
we got to the steamer. Faiot, Akmet Haff ez's 
son, had come with us and he knew the stallion 
better than we did. He saw what the trouble 
was and tore the bandage from the horse's 
eyes. Then the Maneghi peered out of the box 
and into the water and immediately grew 

The horse never moved after his bandages 
were taken off. He was calmer by 50 per cent, 
than I was during the whole operation. The 
next they brought was the chestnut two-year- 
old Deyr colt. He had been so playful when 
we bought him that there were a double set of 
hobbles on his legs and even with them he 
cavorted round. But like the Maneghi Sbeyel 
he walked into the box, and without a bandage 
over his eyes he was perfectly quiet, looking 
over the landscape as they swung him up into 
the air, and down into the small boat, without 



even a move. In the meantime another diflS- 
culty had arisen. While these stallions were 
gentle and kind, still they would fight if they 
could put their noses together, so I asked some 
of the Arab grooms we had brought with us 
to hold each one by the head. Then, an im- 
derling of the spy, whom we suspected, object- 
ed. He told our interpreter that no man 
would be allowed to go with us to the boat for 
fear they might leave the country. We tried 
to explain. We told him that if the stallions 
were left free to nip at each other's noses, the 
soft wooden boxes would be smashed to splint- 
ers. But there is no reasoning with spies. 
We had to appeal to Mr. Jackson and he final- 
ly gave his word that each man who went to 
the boat would be returned, and finally it was 
settled that way. 

Among these grooms was Said Abdullah, 
whose name translated means "The Happy 
Servant of God." This cheerful person (for 
he was nearly always on a broad grin) had 
been the slave of Akmet Haff ez, and when the 
latter had given the Seglawieh mare to me, he 
announced casually that Said went with her. 
Of course, that was something of a poser. I 
tried to explain to Haffez that in America 



slaves did not exist, but I am afraid my ex- 
planation was not very clear. At any rate he 
insisted that as the boy had been brought up 
with the mare, or at any rate with her sons and 
daughters, he should go with her wherever she 
went. The mare was going with me, said 
Akmet Haffez; so was Said. The logic 
seemed perfectly clear to his mind. He dis- 
missed the subject at once and considered the 
incident closed. As his guest I could do no 
more than follow suit and Said as a faithful 
servant (both of us had forgotten the word 
slave) has followed the fortune of Wadduda 
ever since. 

We worked hard all day getting the horses 
aboard and it was nearly dusk when the last 
lighter came alongside with Consul Jackson. 
We compelled all the grooms, four of whom 
I had intended to take to America, to return 
to the shore, to be checked off. I went ashore 
with them to sign a few papers of release, and 
incidentally pay a few more bills. Following 
us at every step we took were the agents of 
the spy, and when we were having our last 
meal in MacAndrews & Forbes's house, they 
paraded round the doorstep. 

It appears that, by some accident on the part 



of the customs official who was checking off 
the horses as they were taken aboard the lighter 
at the dock, Said, my boy, had been checked off 
as coming back, and it had not been noticed 
that he had gone out to the lighter with an- 
other bunch of horses. He had crawled in 
under the bales of hay, and to anyone on 
shore he might have been taken for a monkey 
scaling up a rope which hung down the side of 
the big boat as he scrambled aboard. He was 
there, but I was not supposed to know it. All 
I was certain of was that he was on the boat. 
After supper, with the sea beginning to get 
rough and choppy, we started for the ship an 
hour before she was to sail and to our aston- 
ishment found on board the three Arabs whom 
we had left on shore. How they got there I 
do not know and never asked. Said was still 
missing, but we had an idea he would turn 
up somewhere and after the steamer was under 
full headway we started to himt for him. We 
searched and called for a long time without 
answer, but finally, behind the "war mare's" 
box, crouched down under some sacks, we 
found him. He was all eyes and the whites 
of them seemed bigger than all his coal- 
black face. It was a long time before we could 



make him understand that it was safe for him 
to come out, but once out he soon saw that he 
was past danger of being caught and ten mfti- 
utes afterwards he was as busy as ever feed- 
ing and watering the horses. 

Anchoring next day at Latakia, Thompson 
went ashore to get some tobacco. I had made 
up my mind to take advantage of the stop and 
finish up some pictures that I had under way. 
Moore was not feeling entirely fit, though much 
better, so stayed aboard, too. Then Thomp- 
son returned and said he had found the Gov- 
ernor's staff getting boats ready to come out 
and call on us, as the Governor had been noti- 
fied by the Governor of Aleppo that we were 
on the steamer with the finest horses that had 
ever come out of the desert. 

I was for sticking by my pictures, but 
Thompson and Moore insisted, on the other 
hand, that we should call on the Governor, es- 
pecially as he had been told of our arrival by 
the Governor of Aleppo. 

So, not expecting anything out of the ordi- 
nary, but still against my wishes, we went 
ashore. There was some whispering between 
Jack and Arthur on the way in to the land, and 
some laughing. My trousers were consider- 



ably torn about the knee and other places from 
riding; I had no tie, and there were a few other 
details of dress missing that ordinarily are of 
little importance in Oregon, anyway, but it 
seemed to be fun for the boys. Later I saw 

When we approadied the dock we saw that 
the town was in holiday attire. The (Jovemor 
of Aleppo had dwelt at much length on the 
importance of our visit and the streets were 
jammed. As we walked off the dock into the 
carriage waiting to take us to ite Gk)vemor's 
Palace, the crowd kept looking for another 
boat bearing the GREAT PEOPLE. They 
must have thought we were the advance guard. 

Reaching the palace Thompson and Moore 
could hardly keep down their mirth. I saw 
then for the first time that the holes on the 
shins of my trousers looked a little bigger than 
they had before, and I felt the lack of that tie. 
We had to pass the Governor's guard, con- 
sisting possibly of a thousand soldiers, who 
were drawn up in double lines. As we passed, 
most of them knelt. Thompson had been 
through the same performance in the morning, 
but when the Governor had asked him for the 
letters from President Roosevelt, and the doc- 



uments from the Sultan, which the Governor 
of Aleppo had mentioned in his telegram, Jack 
had told him that they were on the ship with 
another man, so it was for these docmnents the 
town was in gala attire, and not for the men 
who carried them. 

We marched past the soldiers to the entrance 
of the palace and the Governor stood in the 
middle of the doorway with outstretched hands 
to meet us. I may have been dressed queer- 
ly — I will even admit it; but when I saw the 
Governor I felt better. He was very short 
and very wide — ^what you would call a pon- 
derous small man, with a white beard, bald 
head, and straight white hair down the back. 
He was a man of much importance in the Sul- 
tan's list of great men, having once been Gov- 
ernor of Bagdad. We went in and the serv- 
ants dove here and there with the standard old 
regulation refreshments of coffee, cigarettes, 
more coffee and so on, and then in some very 
beautiful cut-glass tumblers, purple lemonade. 
We had been used to red thick lemonade, but 
this was purple. The Governor could not 
speak English, but his secretary knew a few 
words. After half an hour's visit, we were 
driven round in a grand review of the town 



with soldiers esoorting our carriages. Thai 
we were taken back to our boat, joined by all 
of the Governor's staflF ^o wanted to see and 
inspect the horses and mares. 

From Latakia to Naples, the trip, so far 
as the horses were concerned, was an unevenl - 
ful one. We had ample opportunity to re- 
cover from the strain of the last days spent 
between the desert and Alexandretta and es- 
pecially from the wear and tear of the shipping 
of the horses at the latter port. Early on that 
day I had nearly succumbed to the heat and 
was obliged to go on to the steamer. Moore 
had very nearly recovered from his sharp at- 
tack of fever, but was still weak, and a great 
deal of the actual work fell upon Thompson. 

Active and strong as he was, he must, how- 
ever, have received in his system some germs of 
the pernicious fever which one always finds in 
Alexandretta. He was in perfect health at 
the time and kept in perfect health until late 
in the fall of last year (1908), when he was 
attacked with a sudden fever, the symptoms 
of which indicated that he must have first been 
inoculated with it in Alexandretta. I regret 
deeply to add that the attack was fatal and 
that our companion of the desert passed away 



almost before we knew he was ill. Thompson 
added greatly to the pleasure and success of 
our trip. He had the knack of seeing the 
cheerful side of life and thoroughly adapted 
himself to any conditions. He never had a 
word of complaint and his good humor helped 
us through many unpleasant times. 




Whex we readied Xaples we felt relieved. 
We thought our troubles were over. Accord- 
ing to our contract with the steamship agent 
in Alexandretta the horses were to be trans- 
ferred from the steamer to a barge and then 
to the Nord America, a much larger boat, 
where they would be put on the middle deck in 
the hold. But we were wrong. Our troubles 
were only beginning. We learned almost at 
once that the Nord America was filled up 
with emigrants and that the horses would have 
to be put ashore, and possibly taken to a stable. 

Argument was of no avaU. We had to take 
the horses ashore, and the only consolation for 
the "shindy" that followed was that Naples 
had for once a real horse show. The young 
stallions had been eating their heads off for 
two weeks on a smooth Mediterranean voyage 



and, as I expected, once their feet touched the 
ground they were almost unmanageable. 
They simply could not walk. They bucked, 
and played, and reared, and squealed. The 
place where we disembarked them was as 
thickly jammed with people as is Broadway at 
Fulton Street at the noon hour. Beside the 
crowd there was a switch engine nmning up 
and down past the docks. That added to their 

The horses had been lowered in their boxes 
from the steamer to a barge, but when the 
Customs Dock was reached it was necessary 
toitake the animals out of their boxes and lead 
them on the- dock. Then the boxes were 
brought on to the dock and the horses had to 
be led into them again. That sounds easy. It 
was simple enough to do it in Alexandretta 
when the horses were tired out with their long 
trip. Now they had had two weeks' rest and 
plenty of food. 

The boxes were made of soft wood and it 
seemed as if the excited animals would kick 
them to pieces. The men on the barges were 
bringing the horses ashore too fast and we had 
more than our hands full. The brown stallion, 
the Maneghi Sbeyel, our pride, had torn out 



the front of his box at one sweep of his fore- 
foot, and long wire nails threatened to pierce 
his flesh at any moment. The Italians, who 
were handling the horses for the shipping com- 
pany, had no more horse sense than Chinamen 
who had never seen a horse. My one stand-by, 
Said, who knew more about Arab horses than 
all the people in Naples, I could not find for a 
long time. When I did he was just where I 
wanted him to be. He came off the barge 
leading our favorite Gomussa, the blue-lipped 
colt, our finest animal. The colt, all excite- 
ment from the squealing of the stallions, was, 
for the time being, transformed into a wild 
horse. He reared, and jumped, and kicked, 
and snorted, and stamped. The black groom 
hung to him and tried to pacify him by yelling 
an Arab word, "Nam," "Nam," "Nam," but 
Gomussa had forgotten his Arabic. He 
didn't hear. He struck the groom with his 
forefoot and knocked him senseless, apparent- 
ly, against an iron fence. I caught the colt 
by the halter, and he threw me off, but Said, 
who was not hurt, again grabbed him, and was 
hanging on by the head. 

Neither of us had been injured, but a mo- 
ment later he struck Said again, and this time 



the groom was laid out. As I threw all my 
weight to try and keep him from climbing into 
the box of the Maneghi Sbeyel, some Italians 
placed a box in front of him, and he ran into 
it. Quick as a flash Said was closing the 
doors. Then we tied his head, but that did 
not stop him. He kicked and the boards and 
splinters flew, and to make matters worse he 
started the others to kicking. But Said was a 
wonder. He got hobbles from the barges and 
at the risk of his life secured the horses, and 
eventually we got the animals all ashore. 
It took all of Said's skill to quiet them and 
there was much kindling wood left on the 
docks. The horses had kicked their boxes to 

And it was very discouraging. Said 
and Thompson were the only ones that kept 
up. The former insisted that Allah was with 
us and had imbued Thompson with the same 
faith. I could see no hope. The next day 
all the satisfaction we could get from the 
steamship company was permission to take 
the horses out of their boxes to a stable across 
the city. The route to it led through the nar- 
rowest of streets and it was my personal de- 
sire to put the animals back on a barge, but 

[ 214 ] 


that was impossible. I feared the worst from 
the attempt to lead them through the streets. 
However, there was nothing else to do and so 
our Naples horse-show began. 

The procession was to start with the bay 
Seglawi Jedran two-year-old colt, the oldest 
son of the war mare, for he was sensible and 
quiet. Then was to come the brown stallion, 
the "Pride of the Desert," and after him an- 
other two-year-old. The other stallions and 
two-year-olds were to follow and the mares 
and colts were to come last. I was to bring 
up the rear with the man who was leading 
Wadduda, the war mare. I made Said lead 
the blue-lipped colt, with the best groom in 
Naples at the other rein, and I also had two 
men leading the Maneghi Sbeyel. 

To my surprise, when the order was given 
for them to back out of the stalls, the proces- 
sion moved oflF quietly and the horses took no 
notice of the trolleys, or the automobiles, which 
were all around them. Wadduda was gay and 
prancing, but her main fret and worry was to 
keep up with the horses on ahead. As we 
passed close by the equestrian statue of Vic- 
tor Emmanuel, the grandfather of the present 
king, showing him mounted on an Arab stal- 



lion, I looked up with a sigfa, wishing fhat I 
could change places with him. I thought I 
was more fit to handle the statue. We reached 
the stables, though, and got in without acci- 

We got back to the hotel and the tempera- 
ture began to drop rapidly. The clouds were 
getting black, especially round Vesuvius. 
The wind howled and within an hour the hail 
was battering the blinds oflF. Jack Thompson 
came in, and slapping me on the back said : 

"If you'd had your way, and put 'em back 
on the barges, how many horses would you 
have alive when morning comes?" I replied: 

"Jack, none." 

He said : "You're right for once. I tell you 
that Allah is with you, and you don't know it. 
Said knows it and if you will just make up 
your mind to that I believe that our horses will 
all reach New York safely. This trip has 
been managed by someone else, and that's 
been proven a dozen times." 

It was nice to believe, if vou could believe 
it. It was an easy way out of the trouble. 
But it did not seem true, until next morning 
we saw the wreck of the barge on which I had 
wanted to leave the horses. It was in splint- 



ers. Other ships had broken their anchor 
chains. Then it seemed that Allah had indeed 
saved us. The faith of Said was often com- 
forting. And we needed the comfort, for we 
seemed to be completely sidetracked. We ap- 
pealed to the American Consul at Naples and 
that official did everything both officially and 
personally. He communicated with all the 
officers of the steamship company, but all of 
them said in effect: "You will have to wait." 
Wait! We who were just back from the East 
knew what waiting meant! Just simply — 

I had in my pocket the bills of lading which 
called for the delivery of the horses in New 
York on September 28, but that seemed to 
make no difference with the steamship com- 
pany. The local agent explained easily that 
we would have to wait for the next boat, the 
Italia. The Italia arrived at Genoa en route 
for Naples and we were informed that she 
could not take horses because of the emi- 
grants. Each day brought a new plan. Now 
we would ship the horses to London, but no 
boats would take us to London ; now we would 
ship to France, but no boats would take us to 
France^ now we would charter a special steam- 



er, but there was no special steamer to charter. 
Should we be obliged to rent winter quarters 
and just wait as the agent of the steam- 
ship company had said we should do? That 
was not to be thought of. I decided that some- 
thing had to be done at once. 

I sent a telegram to the King of Italy, ap- 
pealing to him as a horseman. I told him 
that though my horses had been billed through 
to New York by an Italian line, they were be- 
ing held up indefinitely. The Italia in the 
meantime had arrived, and the captain repeat- 
ed that he had orders to take on no horses, and 
that he would not think of doing so, as he had 
more emigrants than his ship could comfort- 
ably hold. Then I played trumps and cabled 
to the President. An answer arrived from 
Washington that carried with it a punch. It 
was plain and simple, but it demanded an im- 
mediate reply. It read : 

"State Department at Washington wants to 
know if it is true that this shipment of horses 
is held on account of emigrants being shipped 
to America." 

There was a good deal of action just then 
roimd the office of the steamship company. 
Ambassador White, at Rome, demanded an 



answer to a telegram whidi he had sent and as 
a result the Italia was detained a day in 
order that the horses might be taken on board. 
True, there was no other aeconmiodation for 
them except on the upper deck, in the very- 
bow of the boat, where they would be exposed 
to all kinds of weather that might come along, 
but I consented to ship theuL I did this under 
protest, as our contract demanded that from 
Naples to New York the horses were to be 
carried between decks. 

Marching back to the steamship dock the 
horses paraded like a cavalry troop. They 
had created a good deal of interest in Naples 
and thousands of people had gathered daily 
to see them exercised in a small park which 
had a bridle path, and when we started for the 
steamer the streets were lined. 

At one crossing the crowd was very dense, 
just leaving a leeway for the horses to pass. 
The blue-lipped colt was giving us the most 
trouble of any. He had on a blind bridle 
and it bothered him because he could not see 
behind him or to the sides. There was a hump 
on his back that showed what he might do if 
the proper occasion came. Right at the thick- 
est point of the crowd, a young boy stood with 



a large board on his head on which were many 
pies. Before I could yell to him, as the blue- 
lipped colt came by he slapped the beast on 
the rump, and almost instantaneously the colt 
kicked the pie counter off his head. It was 
done so quickly that the boy didn't realize 
what had happened. As he looked behind him 
to see who had knocked the pies off, they went 
rolling in every direction, while the hundreds 
of people roared with laughter. The pier 
was reached without further mishap and the 
horses were hoisted on the deck of the Italia 
way up among the anchor chains. 

At the last minute Jack Thompson agreed 
to go on the ship with the horses, permitting 
Arthur and myself to take advantage of a 
faster boat which would get to New York a 
week before the Italia. There was nothing 
that could be done during the voyage, for any 
of the horses, that Jack Thompson could not 
do, so we left him, with the belief that Allah 
was with him, and would see him safely 
through. Allah was good and the horses ar- 
rived safely. More than safely indeed. 
Many of them had caught bad colds and 
coughs in Naples, but when they reached the 
dock in Hoboken they were in perfect condi- 


..^ ^o:: <r-' ♦-srr. 

'/* ^^<./^^ '-r t'li^ i.--^ Vr=r?i xrL Jjf lit^ 

",1 ^-.^-^r '-tt -,/U aV fTF- 


*>f'' (.'/^ \yr/fXrj \;xj z:x\ 'AZ.^ S> I 

//f •/> ^//f v^ ifr'^^^^i f/j^di. *i>ii^ tLir^gs. bat at€ 
f^,' ,f >^/M ^i( UkX^/'^t "^n/j^ went oo for ser- 
^ f^l /J/f/* MfitJI ♦^^ ^^^ alarmed- 3IaiiT of 
f^'« umr^'n ]H'^'fiUut ^aiint for want of nouridi- 
\UK tiffH\, TUy woulrl rrx/t in their bedding 
1/^ \mui for f(f(nl hkfi that to which they had 
\t^'*'n hrniHUfUuul, Ho we fooled them in this 
♦v/iyj wi< /k»|irinlili'(l the bottom of their box 
mImIIm wilii cul-iip tiity dampened, with oats and 
inl(hllliiK« wnd i\wt\ bedded over it. When 
llH>y rootiul In the bedding they found this 

[ 222 ] 


food, and within two weeks began to eat it 
out of the manger. And so the desert horses 
came to America. 

We could not but feel some elation over the 
fact that the importation had been successfully 
carried out. It is a far cry from the home of 
the Anezeh to Morris Plains, and, as we had 
found, the journey was beset with difficulties. 
To have overcome them all and to have 
brought the string of horses in safety to this 
country was a satisfaction, to put it as mildly 
as possible. I will not speak at length here 
of the successful results of the importation, 
but perhaps those who have followed the story 
of the Maneghi Sbeyel stallion, "The Pride of 
the Desert," the gift to me from Nazim Pasha, 
will like to read of his achievements here. He 
has proved that horsemen are the same the 
world over, whether they wear the rough cloaks 
of the Bedouins spim under camel-hair tents 
or frock coats built on Fifth Avenue. The 
Bedouins followed us from the desert to the 
coast, breeding two mares a day to him. 

When we reached America, our horsemen 
also picked him from the rest as the best ani- 
mal of the lot. He was written of by experts 
and horsemen as being of the Morgan type, as 



we had noted when we first saw him in tiie 
Governor's palace in Aleppo. In the follow- 
ing June, after his arrival in America, he was 
shown at Rutland, Vermont, at the horse 
show, in an open com{>etition with stallions, 
for the "Justus Morgan Cup/' In this con- 
test he met representatives of the finest strains 
of the Morgan horse of the present time and 
he won. That alone was sufficient compensa- 
tion for the trouble and expense of the entire 





Said Abdallah, my Bedouin groom boy, 
constantly asserted all through the voyage 
from Alexandretta that Allah was with us and 
would bring us in safety to the end. His faith 
had helped us out of the dumps in Naples and 
his devotion to us and to the horses should not 
go unremembered. When Akmet Haffez 
presented to me Wadduda, the war mare, 
Said came with the gift and ever after counted 
himself as one of my family. To guard him 
against fits of homesickness or melancholy, be- 
fore he had learned to speak any English, I 
often took him with me, especially when I took 
my own children to shows and circuses. He 
had never seen even a street fakir in his own 
country, so that the strain was naturally very 
heavy on a brain so undeveloped and at first 
it seemed a little dangerous to show him the 

[ 225 ] 


wonders of the New York Hippodrome, but I 
did. No eyes ever saw as his did that after- 
noon. He had never seen elephants, nor any 
pictures of them. He had not even heard of 
the beast. His first query was to ask if they 
were real, or just made of cloth. He saw 
Mermaids come from the water and return 
again. If the roof had dropped in and sprung 
back to its place. Said would have thought 
it was on the regular programme. 

After each show his brain was worn out for 
a day, and occasionally severe headaches fol- 
lowed, but his comments were often delight- 
fully true. 

Especially are his criticisms on the high-act- 
ing horses of the National Horse Show worthy 
of publishing here. He had never seen a 
horse artificially exhibited. He came from a 
race of people who, strangely enough, believe 
that if God did not intend a horse to hold its 
head up, it is a shame to pull it up with 
a chain. He also had the curious idea that if 
a horse does not elevate its tail naturally, it 
is cruel to dock the tail. Of course such ideas 
are desert barbarisms, but at the Horse Show 
they sounded naive and amusing. 

One day, accompanied by an interpreter, he 



went to the Horse Show, and saw there for the 
first time, a good team of high-acting horses, 
a pair that almost bmnped their chins with 
their knees. At first his eyes nearly bulged 
from their sockets. He held up his hands in 
horror as he exclaimed "Mashalla! Mashal- 
la ! Is there truly a race of horses that go up 
and down in the same place?" 

When told that what he saw was the result of 
training and artificial breeding, and that the 
horse himself was not to blame, he uttered an 
exclamation of pity. Then he said suddenly: 
"No," and pointed above him; "the desert isn't 
up there, but always in front of you ; God made 
a horse to get over it with the least effort, not 
the most." I have no comment to make on 
these remarks of Said. I do not think any are 

Within a year Said had mastered enough of 
English to get along in ordinary conversation, 
especially if it pertained to horses. There was 
only one thing he could not understand and 
does not to this day. He cannot comprehend 
how the newspapers know that it is or is not 
going to rain to-morrow. He admits that 
God knows, but he is doubtful if any news- 
paper does. 



He is as fine an example of faithfulness as 
could be found. After he had been in this 
country nearly a year, and had beaten off many 
attacks of blues, Dr. Frank Hoskins of the 
American Mission at Beyrout, Syria, came to 
the farm to see the horses, and talked with the 
boy who had been with the Anezeh. Reach- 
ing home in the evening, I was informed that 
ever since Dr. Hoskins had taken his depar- 
ture Said had been crying. Evidently a fit of 
homesickness had seized him. I went to the 
bam to see him and he came smilingly from 
one of the dark comers. But I could see that 
his eyes were much swollen and still wet with 
tears. I asked him if he had enjoyed his talk 
with the visitor and he said he had, for he had 
spoken Arabic as if he were at home. He 
tried to appear happy and with forced en- 
thusiasm told how Dr. Hoskins had admired 
and liked Wadduda, the war mare, and "The 
Pride of the Desert," best of all the horses. 
But he was plainly homesick for the sights and 
smells of the desert and there seemed to be no 
way to console him. His broken English only 
made his protestations that he was happy the 
more pitiful. 



"Said," I said at last, "you have been 

"What cry, Mr. Davenport?" 

**Your eyes," I answered, "are ahnost 
swollen shut with weeping." 

His head dropped and his chest began to rise 
and fall. After a moment or two he said : 

"Mr. Davenport, before Allah, my heart no 

Then he broke out and exclaimed that at 
night when he shut his eyes his thoughts took 
him to the Anezeh, and he joined the tribes as 
they swing to the south. Now they are past 
Deyr and approaching Nejd they get into war 
with the Shammar I Then he wakes up and 
finds that he is not in the desert, but in Mor- 
ris Plains. He turns on the other side and 
sleeps ; and by and by his brain goes to Aleppo 
and when he meets his once great master, 
Akmet Haffez, he grasps him by the hand. 
Again he wakes up, and he is still in Morris 

"But, Mr. Davenport," he added bravely, 
"Allah knows my heart no mad." 

"Well," I said, "Said, I am going to send 
you back to the desert." 

"Said go desert?" 

[ 229 ] 


"Yes," I replied, "you are going back to the 

He broke down with hysterical laughter, 
and grasping me by the hands commenced to 
kiss them, and tell me that I was too good to 
stay in this country, that I ought to live with 
my brother in the desert. 

"Mr. Davenport, Said go desert two or three 

"No, Said, in two or three weeks. I will 
find a ship, if I can, that will take you direct 
to Iscanderoon, Alexandretta. There you can 
follow the old Roman road across the moun- 
tains to Aleppo, and from there the camel car- 
avan route to the desert." 

I turned and walked away, bidding him 
good-night, and had nearly reached the house, 
when he called to me and asked if I would say 
before God that my heart was not mad. I will 
admit that after dinner I went to bed early, 
and did not get much sleep. 

I got up before daylight, still restless, and 
went out, and there in the north pasture saw 
an impressive spectacle — ^the trying out of 
Said's religious faith. Wadduda, the war 
mare, dressed and draped in all her beautiful, 
wild regalia, was in the pasture. From her 



neck hung the beads of a wUd tribe, and from 
the desert saddle long flowing tassels swayed 
in the morning breeze. It must have taken 
Said half an hour to have draped her. Stick- 
ing in the dirt at her side, towering over her 
head ten feet or more, was the war spear from 
the Anezeh. Kneeling on his prayer rug in 
front of her forefeet was Said, facing, as I first 
thought, the strip of timber across the road. 
But as I watched the picture I saw that he 
was praying toward the light spot on the hori- 
zon — toward Mecca. I watched for fully five 
minutes. The boy touched his lips and fore- 
head with an upward stroke of the hand, and 
dropping both hands beside him, looked intent- 
ly for a moment at the approaching dawn. 

Rising up slowly, he picked up his little 
prayer rug, lifted his spear from the damp 
earth, while the beautiful prancing mare came 
to his side. Her tail was swinging proudly 
from side to side. 

As they approached me I saw that Said's 
eyes were, if anything, more swollen than they 
had been the evening before. To cheer him 
up, I spoke to him first. 

"Said, I thought when I saw you in the pas- 



ture that you were some member of the 
Anezeh that had come to see me/* 

"La" (no), "Mr. Davenport Said no see 

"You are going back to the desert." 

"No go desert. All night Said no sleep — 
sit down, no lay down. Go Wadduda stall, 
pray ; come back, no answer — no sleep — pray, 
no sleep." 

Turning, he pointed out into the pasture to 
the little knoll, and said that there a few mo- 
ments ago Allah had answered his prayer. 
When he found where Mecca was, he had 
prayed to Allah and Allah had told him 
that he was not to go back to the desert ; that 
he had been given with Wadduda by Akmet 
Haffez to me; and that he was going to stay 
as long as Wadduda lived — ^would stay even 
when she was gone, with her colt and her colt's 
colt, and was never going back to the desert. 
He has never been homesick since. 




The desert Bedouin is to the Ottoman Em- 
pire what our Indians were to North America. 
He is of two kinds — ^the agriculturist and the 
warrior who carries the lance. The two 
classes are in great contrast, but when you 
have seen both you incline towards the former 
notwithstanding all the poetry and glamor 
which attach to the fighter. Despite their 
racial likeness you can see the difference be- 
tween them at once. The agriculturist is, of 
course, the more domestic. He stays pretty 
much in one place and is content with a mud 
house and a few camels, and maybe a mare or 
two. He is apt to have many sheep, and long- 
eared black goats, and possibly ten or twenty 
head of strange-looking cattle, together with a 
few chickens and turkeys. He is a much kind- 



er-Iooking man than his fighting brother. He 
lives close to the ground and likes the smeU 
of it. 

The warrior is an idler. When he walks he 
swings his long robes with an indolent grace 
that impresses you witli the idea that he is 
not hurried for time. He has no occupation 
other than war, therefore his plans are not 
made far ahead. He keeps one mare, at least. 

One of thp young men ol the Aneaeb. 

always saddled so that he may spring on her 
back at the slightest alarm. Near where she 
is picketed his long spear is stuck in the ground 
ready to be seized for immediate action. But 
otherwise he is lazy. 

He sips coffee all day long, and smokes al- 
most incessantly. He is fond of talking of 
horses and firearms, and prides himself on be- 
ing a gentleman. But he will not work. His 


eyes often gleam with a wild expression; every 
motion and gesture he makes is artistic and he 
is well imbued with the innate sense of polite- 
ness which does not need to be taught. Though 
you might be the first white person he 
ever saw, his manners are always those of a 
gentleman. He visits all day long, and until 

quite late in the evening; he is liable to get up 
at any time in the night and have coffee, and 
smoke, and talk, and he is generally in a good 
humor. But he will not work. He has a gen- 
eral air of weariness. 

As a matter of fact, with the idea of fight- 
ing constantly in his mind, he really believes 


that he does not have time to work. As long 
as he has enough for himself and his horses he 
is perfectly willing to lead the hand-to-mouth 
existence which his ancestors have led for hun- 
dreds of years before him. To-day he does 
not know where he will be to-morrow. Al- 
though he has, in a way, a fixed route of travel 
he can never be sure that it will be carried out 
entirely according to the rule. He does not 
sow any crops, for he does not know 
who will reap them— ahnost certainly not him- 
self. Why then should he work? He can al- 
ways depend upon his brother, the farmer. 

But imdemeath his indolence of manner, 
his slowness of movement and his chariness of 
speech — ^behind all his apparent inertia and 
lack of initiative — every now and then you get 
a glimpse of a crude, elemental force, the ex- 
istence of which you had not even guessed. 

At first it startles you. You have been re- 
ceived with the grace and charm of true hos- 
pitality. You have been made entirely at 
home in your strange surroundings. You 
have given up wondering how such polished 
gentlemen (and I use the term in its best 
sense) could be found in such a desolate, bar- 
ren, God- forsaken country. Then — ^just a 



look, perhaps at some inadvertent remark you 
may have made ; maybe a gesture, slight in it- 
self, but full of significance, changes the en- 
tire aspect. The whole thing is undefinable, 
but as you look through the flaps of the goat- 
hair tent under which you are sitting and out 
on the desert you realize that the warrior 
Bedouin is in his right place. In a fertile 
country, clothed with verdure, he would be out 
of place; trees and buildings would spoil the 
picture of which he is the central figure. 
There is that about him which needs for its 
existence the great expanse of sterile nature 
you see around him. Elsewhere he would 
shrink into a mere curiosity. He would pass 
into the type you are apt to see at Coney 

The Anezeh are the most powerful of all 
the Bedouins; they are the greatest in war 
and therefore they rank the highest. They 
are a migrating tribe, circling the desert an- 
nually. In winter they keep near Nejd in 
Central Arabia, where it is warm and where 
the feed is better. As spring approaches they 
start north along the Euphrates, passing 
Bagdad and Deyr where they sell some of their 
colts and then keep on into the northern part 



of the Syrian desert, near Aleppo, where they 
spend the summer months among the pastoral 

As fall comes they start across the upper 
end of the desert, brushing over past Palmyra, 
and on down in the direction of Riad. This 
schedule has been in force ever since the his- 
tory of the desert has been recorded. 

All Bedouin Sheikhs hold their position by 
inheritance, and among the great sheikhs of 
the desert there have been some notable men. 
Faris, the late head of the Shammar tribe, was 
a man whose memory has already become a 
tradition. Though constantly their enemy, the 
greater men of the Anezeh tribe told me of his 
goodness and his courage. He was honesty 
itself. Once when his tribes had robbed some 
of the agricxiltural Bedouins of their sheep, the 
losers went to the great sheikh himself, and 
told him how his tribe had ravished their 
flocks. Instantly Faris told them to go and 
count out the same number of sheep from his 
own personal flocks and take them home. He 
was made the brother of Wilfred Blunt, Esq., 
twenty-nine or thirty years ago. At his death 
the whole desert mourned, feeling that one of 
the greatest of their kindred had passed away. 

[ 288 ] 


One of the rarest souvenirs that we brought 
from the desert was the last seal of Faris 
that the Anezeh ever saw. This was a fine 
black impression on the pedigree of the 
Abeyan Sherrakieh mare, on which Moore had 
made his memorable ride. Although he had 
been their life-long enemy, the Anezeh gave it 
up rather reluctantly and only under pressure 
from Akmet Haff ez. 

Hashem Bey, the Sheikh of the Anezeh, has 
been ruling since he was twelve years old. He 
told me his tribe numbered 70,000 tents, and 
would average six or eight occupants to a tent. 
The great Anezeh are divided into many tribes 
and sub-tribes, chief of which is the Sebaa and 
the one containing the finest horses. All of 
the sub-tribes, however, acknowledge Hashem 
Bey as their highest ruler and on matters of 
great importance they are boimd to obey his 
orders under their own Sheikh. They all unite 
when a big war is on. They own together 
about 300,000 camels, and unless an Anezeh 
has a hundred sheep and five camels he is not 
allowed to maintain a tent. With that num- 
ber, however, he has the right to marry four 

The Anezeh, as may have been gathered, 



are habituated to war and robbery. They 
believe that to cultivate the soil is to sink 
in the esteem of their fellow men, so they pre- 
fer to be dignified, and die, if possible, on 
horseback, or at their horse's feet on the field 
of battle. They own immense flocks of sheep 
that must produce fine wool as well as mutton, 
as they are the "fat-tailed" variety. These, 
with goats, and their camels, are their chief as- 
sets except what they get by robbery. They 
do not, as a rule, fight anmig themselves, but 
they rob the Arab» who have settled down to 
farmings or tfiey war on other tribes, especial- 
ly the Shammar, and its sub-tribes across the 
Euphrates. They fight, in the main, with the 
lance, but in recent years they have acquired 
quantities of rifles, and it is estimated that the 
Anezeh have several thousands of guns. 

As I have said before, the true Bedouin is 
a gentleman. In natural politeness he is un- 
equaled. He eats with his fingers and some 
of his personal habits are not pleasant, but 
his hospitality is unsurpassed and even if he 
hates you he has the knack of making his hos- 
pitality appear entirely genuine. You may 
be his personal enemy, as well as his tribal 
enemy, still, if you come and touch his tent 


r fc - - - - ^ - ^ -' -I " ' *■ < i * l - -^ — « ^ ■».' > -aj-^-t,-iv^^*"-| 


rope, he is bound to protect you; you are 
his guest. Young boys who had never 
seen a white man before, when we passed, 
if they were sitting, arose. When you go 
to a man's tent, or especially a Sheikh tent, 
though you may have, as we had, fifty in our 
party, and many animals to feed, you are his 
guest for three days, and he will not let you 
pay for anything. 

To offer a tip would be an insult to the 
poorest Bedouin. In the middle of one night, 
when we stopped to drink from an old well, 
a ragged Arab held my horse and gave 
me some grapes. It was between two and 
three in the morning, and you can tip most of 
us at that hour. There was no one close 
enough to see him when I tried to hand him a 
piece of silver, but he shoved it back without 
a word, a thing I didn't think would be done 
in any country of the world. There is some 
answer to this, but no one seems to know what 
it is. I certainly do not. In Aleppo they 
would take money of any kind and in Beyrout 
you were afraid they woxild take your life. 
And on Broadway did you ever offer anybody 
any money at any time of the day or night and 
have it refused? 



If you yawn they think you are tired, and 
will leave you so that you can sleep. Nothing 
would induce them to enter your tent until you 
had entered it. If a Bedouin tells you the 
breed of a horse, or mare, you can bet it is true. 
They believe in just a plain simple God, and 
think that if they do right God will be easy to 
please. They marry as many as four wives, 
and think they are happy. Wh^a one is di- 
vorced she is kept by the tribe. Morally they 
are of the highest type. They don't inter- 
marry with colored slaves. They seldom, if 
ever, marry out of their tribes. A Bedouin 
girl could not, or woxild not, marry the tribe's 
blacksmith, because of the disgrace of marry- 
ing a man who works for his living. 

The Bedouin women are much like the 
squaws of the American Indians. They are 
seldom seen unless when packing the camels at 
moving time. They disfigure their faces by 
tattooing, and all of them stain the lips blue, 
which is a sign of beauty. Though they have 
to do the cooking they are never seen aroimd 
the tents. The men stroll here and there as if 
they belonged to some great club, which in a 
way they do. Their Sheikh's tent is their club 
and there they go and come at will. There 



they sip black bitter coffee and talk about 
borses. They have great reverence for the 
owner of a celebrated mare, and when such a 
man enters a tent, those present rise, not in 
honor of him, but of the mare. Wars are 
commonly started with another tribe to get 
possession of a mare whose blood they want. 

Camels for the Royat Daughters. 

I do not think the Bedouin is much of a 
horseman, aside from being a great rider. He 
is kind, and has much patience, but his horse- 
shoeing, which is the most awful in the world, 
proves he isn't a real horseman. 
[ 213 ] 


In judging his horses he is different frona 
the average man, and I think his theory is one 
of the best. The Bedouins we met laughed 
over the few Europeans they had seen coming 
to buy stallions for the various European gov- 
ernments. These men, they said, instead of 
looking at the horse's head, looked first at his 
feet and ankles. They could not understand 
that. If they were going to trust me with 
their purses and, what was more, their life, 
they declared they would look first, for twen- 
ty minutes, in my face and eyes and not pay 
so much attention to my feet. While it was, 
of course, understood that a horse's legs and 
feet should be perfect, still a horse showed 
even what his legs were made of by his head 
and no horse was ever better or worse than 
what his head showed. They defied me to pick 
out one of the distinguished war mares that 
did not show her distinctive characteristics 
more plainly in her head than in the rest of 
her makeup. And I found they were right. 

Horseflesh and horse-lore are the same the 
world over, after all. After returning to this 
country I told Mr. James R. Keene, the great- 
est of our turfmen, of the Bedouin method and 


_____ __^ , - _ - --^ :m« < ~>r • ^L^K^K^^^^M^^^J*^**'^^^^* 


he said that he followed it himself. He told 
me that for years he had been in the habit of 
picking out, as the most likely of his colts and 
fillies, those which had the best heads, and he 
added that he had seldom been deceived. The 
heads showed better than the heels of what stuff 
the youngsters were made. 

I found out from observation and experi- 
ence, that whatever the Bedouin tells one about 
his horse, and of the horse's character, you 
generally find to be true. I had no oppor- 
tunity of judging the truth of the statement, 
that when they are in war for three days the 
horse is better on the third day than on the 
first, but I did see that on the third day a small 
Abeyeh Sherrakieh mare, carrying Arthur 
Moore and his weight, carried him easier than 
she did on the first day. 

In looking back at that smnmer trip in the 
desert I should say that we learned more than 
anything else to take things as they come. Of 
course we could not have done otherwise, but 
at least we learned not to complain — ^too 
much. In our general American life we com- 
plain if we are asked to eat off a table-cloth 
which has once been used. We rather object 
to drinking from a glass of water if another 



person has drank a sup from the same glass. 
We sometimes complain at hotels because the 
sheets are not changed more than twice a week, 
but all this bluff disappears quickly when we 
have borne the hardships of the desert in the 
summer time. There we found ourselves shov- 
ing a camel's head to one side so that we could 
drink the riled muddy alkali water from a pool ; 
we thought nothing of being the last, after 
twenty Bedouins had drunk out of a wooden 
bowl of sour milk. After you have eaten two 
weeks with your hands, knives and forks seem 
awkward. You can, in fact, pick out with 
more accuracy and speed a choice piece of mut- 
ton with your fingers than you can with a 
spoon, and this means something when you are 
squatting round a meal with thirty Bedouins 
each with as long a reach as Fitzsimmons. 

We learned to ride all day in the heat and 
perhaps part of the night and then be glad 
to lie down in a Bedouin's bed a minute after 
he had climbed out of it, and we ate with zest 
from the same mound of rice as the rest of the 
tribe. After all, the desert is the great leveler 
and it shows us how trivial and artificial we 
are in some ways in our civilized life. 




There has been a great deal of speculation 
as to where the Arab horse originally came 
from. He has been the subject of myth and 
fiction and tradition for so long that the truth 
about him is hard to ascertain. He has been 
dated as far back as Mt. Ararat by writers who 
gravely state that he and his companions 
walked off Noah's Ark and began to breed 
and multiply in the general region where he is 
now foimd. We are past the Ark age, how- 
ever, and after all it makes little difference to 
the modern reader to know the exact origin of 
the Arab horse as long as he is what he is. 

The Arab horse is a type by himself. He is 
distinctly different from all other horseflesh, 
not only in the formation of his bone structure, 
but in his temperament. He stands alone. It 
has been thought by many that there are two 



breeds of Arab horses — ^a large and a small, 
but that is incorrect. There is but one general 
breed, and this breed is subdivided into many 
families, all of which are different and dis- 
tinct. All the families are descended from 
certain great historic mares. 

Among the Bedouins all the emphasis is 
placed upon the maternal line. As long as 
the sire of a horse is kaown to be "Chubby" 
(meaning a thoroughbred from which an 
Anezeh would be willing to breed), he is of 
little account. The colt gets its value from 
the blood of the mother. That seems curious, 
too, in a country where women are very httle 
more than slaves. 

Ill-advised supporters of the Arab horse in 
this country have brought him into a great 
amount of criticism by trying to show that he 
is a racer in our sense of the word. In our 
sense of the word! Thank heaven he is not. 
The average American race-horse of to-day ( I 
yield to no one in my admiration of such splen- 
did animals which men like James R. Keene 
breed) exists simply that bookmakers and 
gamblers may "earn" a living by robbing the 
ignorant and gullible of money they cannot af- 
ford to lose. 





Racc'tracks to-day are kept alive for that 
one purpose. The methods of the bookmakers 
are almost as sure as those employed by a man 
who throws a gun into your face and asks you 
to throw up your hands. There is no escape 
for him. Even the honest men who race their 
horses for sport are his tools without know- 
ing it. 

The Arab IS a racer, but he wins through 
his endurance. To criticise him because he 
is not the equal, in short dashes, of the horses 
we have bred from him, is utterly imjust. To 
condemn him because he does not lend himself 
to the uses of the gambler is surely high praise. 

Yet not only the modern race-horse, but his 
brothers of a more useful type, owe a large 
part of what they possess of speed, endurance 
and intelligence to the Arab. The importa- 
tion into England of the Darley Arab (see ap- 
pendix) , and the Godolphin Arab or Barb (no 
one ever knew which he really was) , marked a 
new era in horse-breeding. From them and 
their progenitors came most of what is best 
in our horses the world over. The Arab blood 
is to be found in the Percheron; it gives his 
distinction to the Russian Orloff, that most 
useful of horses, and it is dominant in the Han- 


V ^ .-^ 1. ..-.• 


overian, French and German cavalry horse, not 
to speak of some of the best types produced in 

Is he to be condemned then simply because 
the only things he shows are intelligence, 
power, beauty, a distinct type of real poetic 
individuality and honesty and because he lacks 
extreme speed for the short distances which 
gamblers of the present time have set, that they 
may fleece the always unsuspecting public ? 

I have pressed the Arab horse into all kinds 
of service, and, in his home on the desert, I 
have seen him accomplish in the matter of 
weight-carrying, tests that I would not have 
believed he could have performed. In my 
home I have seen him on the carriage working 
as honestly, and as faithfully, as any horse that 
was ever hitched, although his ancestors knew 
no collars. I have seen two Arab stallions 
driven together by a child, in safety. His ene- 
mies will cry that he is small — that he is a pony, 
but that the Arab horse, in his native country, 
stands close to fourteen hands and two inches 
I have foimd from the examination of hun- 
dreds of them. As a matter of fact his size is 
merely a question of the feed given him when 
he is a colt, which is shown by the fact that 



among the Gomussa tribe of the Sebaa Anezeh, 
who pay better attention to their horses than 
others, we found colts of two years standing 
fifteen hands high. At the Circassian villages 
on the Euphrates, where they take even better 
care of their live stock than the Bedouins, we 
found the Arab horse much advanced in size. 

When you see the method of his rearing in 
the desert you come quickly to one conclusion. 
Instead of being a small horse, he is, in reality, 
the biggest horse known, when you consider 
the hardships which he goes through from the 
day he is bom. From the first he is hobbled 
from fore foot to hind foot, and from fore feet 
and hind feet to pins driven in the ground. 
In that way he spends his entire life when not 
under the saddle. His feed consists of a nose- 
bag full of dusty, dirty chaff and ground-up 
wheat and barley straw which has been 
threshed by the hoofs of cattle and donkeys 
treading over it as wheat was threshed in the 
days of Abraham. This dusty, dirty chaff is 
all he ever gets in the way of hay; and that, 
with a nosebag of barley, constitutes his daily 

I am speaking now of horses reared by the 
best tribes. They are watered only once a day, 



and the water is a strong alkali lime mixture, 
which is, possibly, accountable for the great 
bone of the Arab horse, so finely exhibited in 
the skeleton of the great "Marengo," Napo- 
leon's war horse captured on the battlefields at 
Waterloo. They are never taken in under 
shelter from the sun, neither are they protect- 

Showlng the wild steel shoe with small hole In center. 

ed from the storms of winter other than by a 
flannel blanket. The Bedouins ride them at 
two years old, and sometimes take them into 
war at three. They are shod by the so-called 
blacksmiths of the desert, who, in reality, are 
criminals, and ought to be shot. The frog of 


the horse's foot is practically cut out and then, 
with a didze, the hoof is made to fit the shoe, 
which is a solid piece of oval steel, having a 
small hole in the center. These shoes are 
nailed on with big nails. 

Horses fed on this kind of food, some- 
times going from twenty-four to forty- 
eight hours without feed or water and still 
able to gallop hour after hour, and day after 
day, without collapse, must have great powers 
of endurance. 

In disposition the Arab horses are gentle 
and very affectionate. They will scratch their 
heads and necks on you just as they would on 
a hitching post. They seem to have no fear 
of anything, not even of man. We did see 
several instances where mares of the desert, 
which had never seen white people before, ob- 
jected to our coming close to them. But that 
was not really fear. Some people believe that 
the Arab horse is a wild ferocious animal ; that 
he is almost untameable and that he is captured 
on the desert with the greatest difficulty, but 
the most ignorance is shown as to his color 
In 1905, while exhibiting four stallions at the 
Lewis & Clark Exposition, in Portland, Ore- 
gon, I had many opportimities of observing 



this ignorance. One lady was very much sur- 
prised at seeing bay, gray and chestnut horses 

"All the Arabs I have ever seen working on 
hearses," she said, "were coal and black." 

Another declared that her father had bred 
Arab horses as long as she could remember and 
that instead of being small they were large 
and spotted like leopards, with long flowing 
manes and tails. Another woman, who 
claimed to have been the secretary to General 
Colby, of Beatrice, Nebraska (the gentleman 
who owned the Grant stallions at the time of 
their death), said: 

"For more than twelve years I rode the 
Grant stallions every day; I am quite 
astonished to see horses shown as Arab horses 
that are bay. I supposed all Arab horses were 
exactly like the two presented to General 
Grant, snow white, with pink skin and blue 

Circuses are, perhaps, more to blame for the 
misrepresentations of the Arab horse than 
anything else. I have a friend who owns a 
circus, and I saw his posters a few years ago, 
claiming that he was exhibiting the only Arab 

[ 256 ] 


horses ever brought to America. He said they 
were captured with great difficulty and 
brought to New York by a special permit of 
the Sultan ; that they were of the family known 
in history as the Eagle Feather Horses, so 
much prized in the Queen of Sheba's days ; that 
they were snow white with black spots. I had 
but a few years before told my circus friend 
where he could find one of these alleged eagle- 
spotted Arab horses, at Albany, Oregon, at 
which place, I believe, he purchased it. 

How the tradition arose that the Arab horse 
is spotted, is difficult to imagine. The pure 
Arab is never spotted. That color only comes 
from the crossing of different breeds and that is 
a thing which is never done in the desert. 
Among the Anezeh, bay is the most common 
color, and white horses, though very fashion- 
able in the desert, are very rare. During our 
entire travels I only saw one pure white mare, 
a Maneghieh Sbeyel, which I purchased. The 
skin round her eyes and nostrils was of a dark 
blackish blue, and her head was of extreme 
beauty. Out of a hundred mares among the 
Anezeh, you would find thirty-five bays, thirty 
grays, fifteen chestnuts, and the rest brown. 

I saw only one that I would call a black 



horse, and that was a Maneghi Hedruj, of a 
very small size. Roans, spotted or piebalds 
and yellows are not found among the Arabian 
horses, though roans and yellows are common 
among the Barbs. The bays often have black 
points and generally white feet, with some 
white in the face. The chestnuts vary from 
the brightest to the dullest shades. 

The Gomussa, of the Sebaa Anezeh, are the 
shrewdest horse-breeders of the desert, and are 
so recognized even by their enemies. They 
have kept in the largest numbers, specimens 
of the five families which are called the Kham- 
seh. They also have the choicest of the 
sixteen other families which are rated equal 
in point of blood. The Khamseh, according 
to legend, descend from the five mares which, 
with other mares of King Solomon, were 
drinking at a river after a hard battle, when 
the trumpet blew, calling them back to the con- 
flict. Only five responded to the call. It was 
these five which f oimded the five great families, 
of which the first is : 

1 — The Kehilan Ajuz. This strain is 
numerous, and from it all other Kehilans are 
offshoots. The words Kehilan Ajuz mean "the 
mare of the old woman," and of course they 



have a story which is this: A traveler riding 
a very fine mare, stopped near the middle of 
the day at a well owned by an old woman and 
asked permission to water his momit. While 
the mare was drinking she was giving birth to 
a filly colt. The traveler, being hard pressed 
for time, gave the colt to the old woman, so 
that she could care for it and rear it, if possible, 
on the camel's and sheep's milk. The rider 
proceeded on his way and rode steadily mitil 
dark, when he stopped in the open plain for 
the night. 

At daylight he was astonished beyond meas- 
ure to find that the colt he had left with the 
old woman, although but a few hours old, and 
having never reaUy seen its mother, had 
made its escape and had tracked her 
across the desert, and was there by her side, 
nursing. Thus came the name. Among the 
Kehilans, bays are more numerous than those 
of any other color. They are the fastest of 
Arab horses, though not the hardiest, nor the 
most beautiful by any means. They bear a 
close resemblance to the English thorough- 
breds to which they are nearly related. The 
Darley Arab, perhaps the only thoroughbred 



Anezeh horse in our stud books, was a Kehilan 
of the sub-family called Ras-el-Fadawi. 

2 — The Seglawi Family. This family 
descends from four great mares owned by a 
man of that name. At his death he gave his 
favorite mare to his favorite brother Jedran, 
and thus the Seglawi Jedrans are the favorites 
of the Seglawis. He gave the second mare 
to his brother Obeyran; the third to Arjebi, 
and the fourth to El-Abd, meaning the slave. 
Many writers consider that all four mares were 
full sisters. The Seglawi-Arjebi are extinct, 
and of the remaining strains, the Seglawi Jed- 
ran ranks first in the esteem of the Bedouins, 
while the Seglawi-el-Abd come second. Some 
years ago Abbas Pasha, Khedive of Egypt, 
purchased nearly all of the Seglawieh Jed- 
ranieh mares from the Anezeh tribe, paying as 
high, so they told me, as £3,000 for a single 
old mare. 

8 — Hamdani. The Hamdanis are not 
common anywhere in the desert, the Shammar 
being supposed to have the best. They are 
mostly grays, though very handsome browns 
and chestnuts are to be found among the 
Shammar. The only strain of the Hamdani 
which are cotmted "Chubby" are the Hamdani 



Simri, and while the Hamdani Jassel were fre- 
quently met by us, they were not considered 
"Chubby" by the Anezeh. The fastest walk- 
ing mare I ever saw was a Hamdanieh Simrieh 
filly that was ridden into the desert by Akmet 
Haffez. She came originally from the Sham- 
mar, and was later purchased by me and 
brought to America. She was a dark bay four 
years old. I believe that in a walking con- 
test, with the best walkers that could be found 
in the country, she would be five miles ahead of 
them at night. 

Sheikh Ali, of the Abou Goumese tribe, told 
me of the meaning of the name Hamdani Sim- 
ri, and the reason why the strain was more pop- 
ular now, and yet rarer than the Seglawi Jed- 
ran. He said that once the Anezeh tribe had 
a great mare, a bay Seglawieh Jedranieh. 
She was so fast that nothing could catch her. 
Once, a few weeks before she was to foal, she 
slipped her hobbles and fled to the open desert. 
They went after her, but she could not be 
caught, and finally, when her colt camdKrwmm 
afraid of men and ran away and the mother 
followed the colt. The tribe offered rewards, 
but none could catch her. All of the various 
strains tried, Kehilan after Kehilan, but all 



failed. In the long run a man named Simri, 
who owned some horses of the Hamdani breed, 
came with a big horse with full round belly 
and offered to catch the mare and colt. The 
Anezeh laughed at him. The horse had to be 
beaten to make him even walk fast. But the 
man insisted to be allowed to try and the sec- 
ond day the horse went better and began to 
show spirit. Finally the Anezeh took the man 
to the place where the mare went daily to drink 
and told him to try his luck. At noon the 
mare and her colt came and when the latter 
saw the horse, and the people, he fled. The 
Hamdani, to the surprise of all, gave quick 
chase and in four hours the colt was captured 
and boimd. Three hours after, the mare was 
captured, and from that time the breed was 
known as the Hamdani Simri, and since that 
day has been the favorite over the Seglawi 

4 — Abeyan. The Abeyan is the handsom- 
est of the five breeds, but is small and has less 
resemblance to the English thoroughbreds 
than any of the other families. The Abeyan 
Sherrak is the most esteemed of the seven 
strains of the Abeyan, there being but two 
others of that seven, the Abeyan Zahaine and 



the Abeyan Fadaha, which are counted "Chub- 
by." The name Abeyan is derived from the 
word "Aba" (cloak), and comes from the fol- 
lowing incident : A certain Arab, probably of 
the name of Sherrak, being pursued in war, 
lost his way just as night was coming on. He 
believed that his mare could run all night and 
save him from his pursuers, but fearful that 
his heavy Aba, or cloak, might hinder her 
stride, he loosened it, and throwing it off over 
his shoulders thought he noticed that during 
the remainder of the night the mare ran 
steadier and more smoothly. The mare easily 
outstripped his pursuers, but when daylight 
came Sherrak found that his cloak had not 
been lost. It had been caught by the mare's 
tail, which is carried higher by this breed than 
in any other family of Arab horses. 

5 — Hadban. There are five strains of the 
Hadban family. The Hadban Enzekhi is the 
favorite, and the Hadban al-Fert is the only 
other that is considered "Chubby" by the 
Anezeh. The Gomussa of the Sebaa Anezeh 
are supposed to have the best of the breed. 
Browns and dark bays are the favorite colors 
of the Hadban Enzekhi, and a mare and filly 



colt twenty days old, which I bought, were the 
finest specimens we saw. 

Besides these five families, there are six- 
teen other breeds which are counted as equal 
to the Khamseh. First is the Maneghi, sup- 
posed to be an offshoot of the Kehilan Ajuz. 
The characteristics of this breed are marked. 
They are plain and without distinction, being 
somewhat coarser with longer necks, powerful 
shoulders, much length, and strong but coarse 
hind quarters. They are strong-boned, and 
are held in high repute as war horses. There 
are four families, the favorite being Maneghi 
Sbeyel, which is regarded "Chubby" all over 
the desert. Maneghi Hedruj, the next es- 
teemed, was not counted "Chubby" at Nejd, 
but was by some tribes of the northern desert. 
The brown stallion "Halep," which was my 
present from the Governor of Aleppo, and was 
looked upon as the best stallion the Anezeh 
owned, is a Maneghi Sbeyel, dark brown with- 
out a white hair. His mother, his grand- 
mother, his great-grandmother indeed, all his 
maternal ancestors for two himdred years had 
been the spectacular war mares of their time. 
The other breeds are as follows: 

Second — Saadan, often very beautiful 


^-^- • • — 


horses, with the substrain Saadan Togan as 
the most highly esteemed. 

Third — Dakhman. 

Fourth— Shuevman. 

Fifth — Jilfan. The substrain Jilfan Stam 
el Bulad is in some parts of the desert prized 
equally with Hamdani Simri. 

Sixth — Toessan. 

Seventh — Samhan. (Substrain Samhan el 
Gomussa. The horses of this family are fre- 
quently very tall, and are much esteemed. ) 

Eighth — ^Wadnan. ( Substrain Wadna 
Hursan. ) 

Ninth — Rishan. (Substrain Rishan Sher- 
abi. Of these we saw many very beautiful 

Tenth — Tamri. (The Kehilan Tamris are 
highly prized, and the bay two-year-old we 
bought of this family is a picture.) 

Eleventh — Meleldian. 

Twelfth — Jereyban. 

Thirteenth — Jeytani. 

Fourteenth — Fere j an. 

Fifteenth— Treyfi. 

Sixteenth — Rabdan. 

Besides these, there are the Kehilan Heife, 
Kehilan Kroash, Kehilan al-Denais, Kehilan 



al-Nowak and the Kehilan al-Muson, or the 
listening horses. This latter family descends 
from a mare that, so the story goes, once stood 
motionless all day in the desert, listening. The 
Bedouins came aromid and looked at her with 
awe. There was no question that she heard 
something in the distance. They finally took 
oflF her hobbles, and she ran about in circles 
and then stopped and snorted. Again she 
stood still and listened, first with one ear for- 
ward and then with the other. They brought 
a nosebag with barley and put it on her head. 
From this she would take a mouthful and then 
pause for a minute or two, still listening. The 
Bedouins could not tell from what direction 
the sound she evidently heard came from. 
They thought it might be a message from 

The same night one of the most awful 
massacres recorded in desert history took place, 
and more than half the men of the tribes were 
slaughtered. From that time the descendants 
of the listening mare have been venerated. 

While there are not two distinct breeds of 
horses in the desert, there are, however, a first 
and second class. A horse, or mare, about 
whose breeding there is the slightest doubt, is 


»- - 


of the second class, and is not called "Chub- 
by/* Even horses taken in war, previous to 
ten years ago, would not have been called 
"Chubby." In all cases the breed of the colt 
is that of its dam, and not of its sire. A colt 
whose father is a Hamdani Simri, and whose 
dam is a Seglawieh Jedranieh, would neces- 
sarily be a Seglawi Jedran. 

The Arab in his purity is a horse of the high- 
est courage. In stature, as I have said before, 
he stands fourteen hands and two inches high 
and is more often a little under than over that. 
He is a very perfect animal; he is not large 
here and small there. There is a balance and 
harmony throughout his frame not seen in any 
other horse. He is the quintessence of all 
good qualities in a compact form. 

The beauty of his head, ears, eyes, jaw, 
mouth and nostrils should be seen to be ap- 
preciated. The ears are not small, but are so 
perfectly shaped that they appear small. The 
head is short from the eye to the muzzle and 
broad and well developed above. The eye is 
peculiarly soft and intelligent with a sparkle 
characteristic of the breed. Yet when it lights 
up with excitement it does not have the 
strained wild look, and pained, staring expres- 



sion often seen in European horses. The nos- 
trilsy long and puckered, are drawn back and 
are capable of great distention. The neck is 
a model of strength and forms a perfect arch 
that matches the arch of his tail. The throat 
is particularly large and well developed. It is 
loose and phant when at rest, and much de- 
tached from the rest of the neck. This fea- 
ture is not often noticed, though it is indica- 
tive not only of good wind, but of prolonged 
exertion without distress, owing to the great 
width between the jaws. The two great fea- 
tures, possibly, that a novice would notice 
quickest in the Arab horse, is the forehead, or 
jibbah, which cannot be too prominent, and the 
other is the tail set high and carried in an arch. 
The build of the Arab is perfect. It is es- 
sentially that of utility. The space for the 
seat of the rider at once fixes his true position 
and his weight is carried on that part of the 
frame most adapted for it. If he be careful- 
ly examined it will be found that all the 
muscles and limbs of progression are better 
placed and longer in him than in any other 
horse. Nature, when she made the Arab, 
made no mistake, and man has not yet been 
able to spoil him. 




Many importations of Arab horses have 
been made out of the desert since Darley's 
came to England in 1708. Some, of course, 
were not the best blood ; but, to say that there 
have been no thoroughbreds brought out of 
the desert, would be as preposterous a state- 
ment as to say that the only known thorough- 
breds of the Arab blood were to be found on 
someone's private estate. 

Of modem importations, I believe those of 
Mr. Wilfrid and Lady Anne Blunt, owing to 
their extensive travels in the desert, have been 
as good as any. Many of their choicest mares 
were purchased in towns and not in the desert, 
but their knowledge of the breed is extensive 
and they could not be deceived. 

Many Arab horses have been brought to 
America and credit must be given to the late 
A. Keene Richards who, in 1855, or 1856, went 



from his home in Kentucky to Palmyra, and 
brought three stallions and two mares. Mr. 
Richards bred his stallions extensively and one 
of their get, "Sabek," was bought by Mr. 
Aymar Van Buren, of Newburgh, N. Y. Mr. 
Van Buren brought the half Arab to New- 
burgh, where he sired a great many very fast 
and tough road horses with extra endurance. 

For many years in the meantime, Mr. Ran- 
dolph Huntington, of Oyster Bay, had been a 
student of the Arab horse. Mr. Huntington 
was the breeder of Henry Clay, and still main- 
tains much of that blood on his farm. His 
ideas, however, were very different from those 
of the majority. He believed in in-breeding, 
and considered that that in itself was a test 
of purity of blood. He bred his Arab mare 
"Naomi," which was bred bv the Rev. F. F. 
Vidal, in England, to her son, and grandson. 
That cross did not strike the fancy of the 
American horse-breeders, and Mr. Hunting- 
ton and the horse-breeders of America have 
long been at war. Indeed his efforts so far as 
they were intended to demonstrate what the 
Arab horse can do in America, have been a 

Several horses have been imported into 



America from the Blunts. The best stallion 
of the lot was a small white Dahman Shahwan, 
an imported horse brought from Abbas Pasha 
in Cairo by the Blunts, and sold later to Mr. 
J. A. P. Ramsdell, of Newburgh, N. Y. But 
after he had sired one pure Arab filly out of 
the gray mare "Nedjma," of the Chicago 
World's Fair importation of 1893, he died. 

To the World's Columbian Exposition, at 
Chicago, came several mares and stallions from 
near Damascus, under a special permit of the 
Sultan of Turkey. By the direction of the 
Sultan, the so-called Hippodrome Company, 
which imported the horses, was to return to the 
desert after the fair was closed. But that was 
never done. The company became entangled 
in debt, and eventually the horses were sold at 
public auction, most of them being bought in 
by the holders of a mortgage. Previous to the 
foreclosure, through a religious wrangle, nine 
of the very finest horses and mares were burned 
to death in an incendiary fire, together with all 
their pedigrees except one. That pedigree 
belonged to the finest animal of the lot, the 
gray mare called "Nedjma." It was taken to 
California by a young Syrian, who hoped to 
get a reward for its return. The horses were 



much abused by some of the Arab horse critics 
in America, who claimed that ihey were tram 
horses from Damascus; but as there are no 
trams in Damascus, the point was not very well 
taken. On the contrary I am assured on good 
authority that the World's Fair horses were 
of the best blood and that among them were 
very fine specimens of the Hamdani Simri, 
Abeyan Sherrak, Seglawi Obeira, and others 
of the recognized breeds. 

There is one noteworthy fact in connection 
with these animals and that is that they are the 
only Arab horses which ever came to America, 
and won a prize in an open competition in any 
class at the recognized horse shows m America. 
Mr. Peter B. Bradley, of Hingham, Mass., 
who had bought nearly all of them, bred a colt 
which won a prize in open competition, at Dur- 
land's Horse Show, for light-weight saddle 
horses. Another yearling colt bred by Mr. 
Bradley and sired by "Obeyran," one of the 
World's Fair stallions, out of a mustang 
mare, won first prize in open competition at 
the New York State Fair in 1908, beating sev^ 
eral of the get of the best bred trotting horses 
in the country, while a bay horse, "Zedan," 
bred by Mr. Bradley, out of pure sire and dam, 



is the only Arab horse I have seen that ever 
showed any real pretence toward the trotting 
gait. This horse can road from twelve to fif- 
teen miles an hour, and keep it up all day. 
Mr. Bradley used his horses constantly ; drove 
them as well as rode them, played polo on them, 
and their performances have amounted to more 
in the few years that he had them, than those 
of all the rest of the Arabs that ever came to the 
country. The other imported horses, up to 
that time, and for some years later, had been 
kept in their box stalls only to be admired as 
idle pets. 

The two stallions which were presented to 
General Grant when he visited the royal stables 
at Constantinople, were both grays. Mr. 
Huntington had used both stallions on his 
farm, after they were taken to the Genessee 
Valley, and thence to Beatrice, Nebraska, 
where they both died. "Leopard," a light 
gray, broke his leg and had to be killed, while 
"Linden Tree" lived for several years after, 
dying in 1900. General Colby, who owned 
them at the time of their death, crossed them 
largely with western mares, and bred some 
very fine colts. 

Among the breeders of Arab horses in 



America few have been more prominent than 
Mr. J. A. P. Ramsdell of Newburgh, who 
purchased the finest of the World's Fair mares 
in "Nedjma." Mr. Ramsdell later bought 
"Garaveen," sired by the great racing Arab, 
"Kismet," out of "Cushdell Bey," the Rev. 
F. F. VidaFs favorite Arab mare in England. 
"Garaveen" sired some very fine types out 
of the mare "Ned j ma," and also out of her 
daughter by "Shahwan." "Garaveen," at the 
present writing, is the only living son of the 
great and unbeaten "Kismet." 

For a number of years Mr. Spencer Borden, 
of Fall River, Mass., bred Arabs. He had 
received some mares from the Hon. Miss Dil- 
lon, of England, and had bred from Mr. Hunr 
tington's stallions; later, purchased from Mr. 
Bush Brown, the sculptor, the Russian Arab 

This horse was brought to the World's Fair 
in Chicago, in 1893, in the Russian Govern- 
ment exhibit, and would rate as a high-class 
Arab, though not of pure blood, tracing, on 
one side, to a Turkoman cross. Mr. Borden's 
recent importations, however, from the Blunts, 
were all very fine blood, and mostly of the 
Kehilan Ajuz family. 



My own importation reached America on 
October 8, 1906, and consisted of ten mares 
and seventeen stallions. Two of the stallions 
belonged to C. A. Moore, Jr., and one to J. 
H. Thompson, Jr. Another stallion which 
Mr. Thompson bought in Beyrout reached 
America about ten days after my importation, 
and only a few days previous to the National 
Horse Show in New York City. He was en- 
tered by Mr. Thompson in the class for sires 
of polo ponies, and in competition with seven, 
won third prize. This stallion, mind you, was 
competing against thoroughbreds and was at 
a disadvantage, being in reality too large for 
the class. He was a three-year-old bay, stand- 
ing fifteen hands high. 

James W. S. Langaman brought to Amer- 
ica, in 1903, a golden buckskin stallion with 
black mane and tail, standing fifteen hands 
three inches. He came to my farm from the 
steamer, arid remained there several months be- 
fore being shipped to Governor Francis, in 
St. Louis, at the opening of the World's Fair. 
Mr. Langaman at that time returned to 
Morocco and came back with six scrubs, the 
rankest mongrels that ever crossed the ocean. 
He purchased them at Tangiers, possibly pay- 



ing $80 for the highest-priced one. He tried to 
palm them off as Arab horses, and gamed a 
lot of newspaper notoriety through his efforts 
to present them to the President of the 
United States, claiming that they had been 
sent by the Sultan of Morocco. The horses 
were, of course, refused, and were later sold 
at a foreclosure sale at the American Horse 
Exchange, where one brought the remarkable 
price of $120.00, They were all foundered 
and otherwise crippled. 

From such specimens as these, and the big- 
flanked spotted circus horses, the Arab horse 
has suffered much injustice. If he recovers 
from this it will have to be by his own efforts. 
In exploiting the Arab horse, I shall not go 
beyond their ability to carry out promises for 



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